Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  “I never forget a face,” Maxine announced, snatching the last paper-thin cucumber sandwich from Ethan’s plate.

  “Well, then, did you see him, Miss Know-It-All?” challenged Juanita. “What did he look like, hmm?”

  Diana’s head spun as the discussion devolved into an argument and competition between the ladies about who knew what and saw what and who had the best memory and the keenest hearing and sharpest eyesight. She looked over at Ethan and saw that he was barely holding onto his laughter, agreeing to everything with a poker-faced nod as he buried his face in a tea cup.

  He was really quite amazing—so patient and endearing with the old ladies, despite their nonstop bickering. And even though he was amused, it was an affectionate amusement—not a condescending one. He was so—

  Diana’s insides stilled and froze, and then she felt heat rush up her throat. She had no business thinking of him in that way.

  None.

  “I need to get over to the police station to sign those papers,” she said, standing abruptly.

  Ethan followed suit, and they were able to extricate themselves with a minimum of fuss—mainly because Maxine and Juanita had gone off on a tangent debating who had been wearing glasses longer, with Iva playing referee.

  “Whew,” Diana said when they got out onto the street. “That was…exhausting.”

  “But they’re so damned cute,” Ethan said with a grin. “All of them. Each so different, each as stubborn as the next, and all such good friends. You can’t tell it, being an outsider, but they’re really a little lost without Jean.”

  “Lost? With Maxine in charge?” Diana scoffed with a laugh. “I can’t imagine that.”

  He laughed too. “Well, Jean had a way of defusing the bickering by completely changing the subject and grabbing their attention. Everyone loved her.” His voice got a little rough, and she looked up at him to see that he was looking determinedly ahead as if to hide any emotion in his eyes.

  Her heart softened even more, and she ruthlessly told it to stop. Ethan Murphy did not equal anyone of interest to Diana Iverson. End of story.

  She had a partner.

  But at the thought of Jonathan, she realized instead of feeling happy or warm, she felt tense and stressed and unhappy.

  “So,” she said, focusing her attention back on the comfort of facts and logic. “The break-ins, as far as we know, started once I arrived in Wicks Hollow. That’s probably significant.”

  “There were no signs of anyone having tried to get in before, right?”

  “That’s right. Not that there were any signs of someone getting in now—both times you or I saw the culprit. But the house was undisturbed—and, frankly, if someone had broken in during the three weeks or so that it was empty, he would have had plenty of time to find whatever he was looking for.”

  “Yet he keeps coming back. Which means he hasn’t found what he’s looking for.”

  “But what? All of a sudden, Aunt Jean is killed” —she had a difficult time saying the word— “and three weeks later, someone starts looking for something in her house.”

  “Because you were coming here and would, as the new owner, presumably be going through her things. You might find whatever he’s trying to retrieve. So he needs to find it.”

  Diana had been thinking along the same lines. “He expected the house to be empty longer, maybe.”

  “Yes. Seems reasonable.” He rubbed his chin. “Jean must have gotten involved in something that sparked her death.”

  “That has to be why she called me. And you,” Diana added. “But did she know that whatever it was put her in danger?”

  “If she realized that, I’m confident Jean was smart enough to tell Joe Cap, at least. Or someone in authority.”

  “Maybe she suspected something was wrong, and that’s why she was trying to reach me.” Diana felt renewed pang of sorrow and guilt. “I wonder if she called anyone else…and actually talked to them.”

  “I don’t know how we’d know.” Ethan frowned, and they turned onto the walkway leading to the police station. “But all this happened rather quickly—within the last month or two. Or it seems to have.”

  “That’s true.” Diana tried to think, but the familiar painful throbbing had begun at her temples. A migraine was coming on, and she was trying to think. To remember. To—

  A migraine.

  She grabbed Ethan’s arm. “What did you say the other night? About me?”

  He halted just before he pulled the door open to the police station. “Which part?” he replied with a slow smile. “About you being terribly prickly?”

  She ignored a hot dart of pleasure. “When we were in the boat—you were saying something about me and—well, I hate the word, but—repressing things. It sounds so Victorian and stilted and misogynistic. Repression,” she said to clarify her thoughts.

  “Repression can be a male issue too,” he said, still with that delicious smile curling his lips. “Repression: it’s not just for women anymore.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He just seemed to know how to tickle her humor unexpectedly. “Right. But anyway, you said something about my headaches—my migraines—being…” She bit her lip and paused.

  “I believe I said something along the lines of whether it’s possible your headaches could be the result of an unwillingness to allow parts of your unconscious to surface to your conscious mind. You’re possibly suppressing—that’s the word I used; not repressing—something from your consciousness.”

  “Yes. That.” The tom-tom of pain was still there, but she was able to think clearly. “Yes, you said something just like that. But I remember you saying repressing not suppressing.” She managed a smile. “The point is…I haven’t had a migraine since that night in the canoe—and the day after was when I…well,” she said, looking away. “When I believed.”

  “But you’re getting one now?”

  “Yes, but…I…” She ground her teeth with frustration. “I was trying to think of something—something in the back of my mind, and that’s when it start—”

  “You’re back.” The door to the police station opened beneath Ethan’s hand, and the tall, purposeful Helga stopped just short of bowling them over. “Good timing, as I’m on my way to write up a fender bender over by the high school. Only one more day till school’s out, thank God. But I have the paperwork ready for you to sign, Diana, and Cap already authorized it. Margo has it waiting for you inside.”

  By the time Diana finished reviewing the documents and signing them, the thread of her conversation with Ethan was gone. The headache still throbbed a little, but it hadn’t deepened into agony the way her migraines usually did.

  “How’s your headache?” Ethan asked as he unlocked his Jeep Cherokee. He opened the door for her because even though he’d been raised by a flaming I-can-open-my-own-door-thank-you-very-much feminist, he thought it was just a polite thing to do—regardless of gender.

  Plus it gave him the opportunity to get close to her for a moment.

  “It’s lurking. But staying in the background.” She gave him a smile as she climbed in. He did his best not to be obvious as he ogled her legs, and considered himself lucky for the extra glimpse he caught of smooth thigh when her skirt rode up as she settled into the high seat.

  He turned on the radio, rolled the windows down, and opened the moonroof just so he could see her short hair get blown around into tousled after-sex curls—because he was a masochist and would never actually see her with after-sex curls.

  To his surprise, she didn’t complain or roll up the window as Fiona, with her long wild hair, would do. Instead, Diana sat quietly, chin propped on her palm, elbow wedged against the edge of the window, seeming to be deep in thought as Kid Rock’s classic Michigan anthem “All Summer Long” blasted through the speakers.

  “Ethan,” she said as they drove up the driveway to Jean’s house. “I want to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before.”

  “Okay.” He was
n’t sure why he had a sense of foreboding. Maybe it was the very somber tone of her voice, or the little vertical line that had appeared between her brows.

  She was quiet for so long he thought she’d changed her mind, but if Ethan knew one thing, it was how to be patient. To let silence do its job.

  Finally, as he pulled to a stop at Jean’s house, next to Diana’s car, she spoke. “When I’m working on a case—particularly if it’s a difficult one or one that we don’t seem to be in a position to win, I…do this thing.”

  She stopped, and again he waited for more.

  “I sit in my office, and put on headphones to block out all the noise. I close my eyes, and I just…well, I stop thinking about everything. It’s like I’m clearing my mind of the clutter,” she said, glancing at him. “And after I sit there for a long time, the solution comes to me. It just kind of falls into my head. When I say solution, I mean…how to get the two opposing sides to come together, or something we missed, or some new perspective that just puts everything into place. It’s like, suddenly, it’s just there. And it always works. It’s always the right solution.”

  Every hair on his body had lifted, prickling, but Ethan kept his mouth closed. He merely looked at her and nodded encouragingly for her to continue.

  “That’s why I’ve been given so many…well, difficult cases. Even ones that other litigators started, then messed up somehow—they’d get reassigned to me when all hope was lost. Because somehow, I could find the solution that worked for everyone—not just our firm. That’s part of why I’m going to make partner this year at thirty.”

  She was opening and closing her hands in her lap, watching them as she spoke. “The thing is,” she continued, “I started doing it when my migraines were really bothering me. About five years ago. I would go in my office, close my eyes, put a cold cloth over my forehead, headphones on, and wait for the migraine to go away. I’d try not to think about how badly my head hurt, and so I concentrated on my breathing. I focused on that in order to block out the pain. I would count…in, one…out, two…in, three…out, four…and so on.”

  “A lot of people—including your aunt Jean—would call that meditation,” he said quietly.

  “Whatever it was, I’d just…lose the pain. And it was as if once I’d cleared the pain away, the solution could come to me.” She nibbled on her lower lip the way she did when she was uncertain or uncomfortable. Then she swung her eyes—those amazing blue eyes—to look at him. “Some of the people in my office think it’s like a weird thing I do. They even call it that—they’ll say, ‘Can’t you go do that thing you do?’”

  “I’m sure you jump right on that, don’t you?” he said in a wry voice.

  She gave a short laugh. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “It’s a kind of gift, Diana.”

  “Well, whatever it is…the only reason I told you is because I think you might be right. About what you said about me repressing—”

  “Suppressing,” he said, unable to hold back a smile. God, for an ice queen, she was pretty fun—in so many ways. Then, still with the smile, he said, “Wait, did you say I might be right?”

  Her eyes laughed at him, but she shook her head in exasperation. “I wonder if I’ve been getting those migraines here because the same sort of thing is happening again. I’m…not letting the facts settle in my mind. I’m missing something.”

  Her eyes were wide and thoughtful, and the way she was looking up at him…

  Ethan nearly leaned over to her then, nearly put his lips on hers. He wanted to taste her again, to taste those pretty lips that were no longer pruny and annoyed but soft and lush.

  Instead, he reminded himself of all the reasons he couldn’t and shouldn’t and said, “That makes sense to me.” He shrugged. “But I’ve got a long history of being open-minded when it comes to this sort of thing.”

  “Right. Well, thank you for not laughing at me.”

  “Diana,” he said, tracing a finger over the back of her hand, “I’m not going to laugh at you. Ever.”

  She held his gaze for a moment, then tore hers away as she opened the door to climb out of the car. Then she stopped. “Ethan.”

  “Wha—” He didn’t finish the thought, for he saw what made her freeze. “Sonofabitch. No, stay here. Call Joe Cap. Now.”

  He was already out of the car, moving toward the front door—which was wide open.

  It had not been that way when they left, several hours ago.

  Chapter Eleven

  Diana didn’t listen to Ethan—at least, not completely. She didn’t stay in the car, but she did call Captain Longbow’s office.

  “Someone broke into my house again,” she told Margo, the office manager. “Please have the captain or Officer van Hest come out as soon as possible.”

  She was already stepping onto the porch by the time she disconnected the call. “Ethan?” She wasn’t afraid that they’d interrupt the burglar—it appeared he’d left in a hurry and hadn’t closed the door behind him.

  “In here.” His voice was grim, and came from down the hall. “Looks like we—or something—interrupted him again.”

  Aunt Jean’s library was in a shambles this time, so clearly the intruder had been searching—and didn’t care that they knew it. Papers everywhere, the desk chair overturned, drawers half opened, framed pictures tipped over, and books scattered on the floor.

  But as Diana walked into the room, she smelled the distinct aroma of sandalwood. Her skin prickled, and she felt a chill in the air that suddenly started to shift and move when there was no breeze. The tip of her nose iced over.

  “Aunt Jean?” she whispered without thinking—then swung her attention to Ethan, hoping he hadn’t heard her.

  But he’d stilled, his nose lifted slightly as if he too smelled the dead woman’s perfume. And as Diana looked at him, she saw that his breath was coming out in small, white puffs.

  And so was hers.

  “Aunt Jean?” she said again, a little louder this time. The chill air brushed over her like light fingers through her hair. The scent grew stronger.

  A movement from the corner of her eye had her spinning to see fat Arty sitting at attention in the doorway. He seemed to be looking up at something.

  The hair on the back of Diana’s neck prickled, standing up straight, and the chill turned unbearably cold—touching not only her nose, but her fingers as well, for when she turned, she saw that the feline’s eyes were fixed on a shimmery blue sort of cloud. A watery image that couldn’t seem to take shape.

  But it didn’t need to.

  “Aunt Jean,” she whispered again—this time unafraid that Ethan would hear. He touched Diana’s shoulder lightly as he moved to stand behind her.

  “We’re going to find him,” he said. “Jean, we’re going to find out what happened. I promise.”

  The blue image swelled and shivered, and then swooped like a graceful hand across the room toward the desk and bookshelves, hovered for a moment, glowing brightly…then up and into nothing.

  She was gone.

  The chill left, the perfume scent disintegrated. The cat turned his back then padded away on silent feet, tail whipping and twitching in feline annoyance—whether it was with humans or ghosts was unclear.

  “Well,” said Ethan after a moment. He wasn’t going to deny it—his heart was pounding and his mouth had gone dry. He supposed that was par for the course for a first-time experience with a ghost. “That was…interesting.”

  “She scared him away,” Diana said quietly. “He was here, digging through her things, and she scared him away. That’s why he left in a hurry, and probably why it’s such a mess. She might have done so to make her point. Look—the piecrust table next to the chair is tipped over, but the Tarot card box is just sitting neatly on the chair.”

  “Good for you, Jean,” Ethan said—and was rewarded when a book tumbled off the shelf, landing at his feet. He was relieved he didn’t jump back or otherwise react; after all, he was supposed to
be the one used to this sort of ghostly, supernatural activity. But it startled him nonetheless.

  “Ethan,” Diana said. “What do you think of this?”

  She pointed to three books on the floor amid the papers, files, and picture frames that had fallen or been knocked over.

  “They’re on top of the mess,” he said. “And why would the burglar pull those three volumes off the shelves, and leave them there? Why would he even be looking at books if he was searching for something?”

  “Unless he thought it was in one of the books…but you get my point. Aunt Jean seems to have a thing for books,” she said, glancing up as if expecting to see the specter of her aunt again. “I’m thinking she used them to scare him away—spontaneously flying books would do it to most people. But the last time she flung books around, they were the murder books.”

  “So you think she might have picked these in particular.”

  “Well, look at the book that fell from the shelf just now when you spoke to her,” Diana said.

  Ethan picked it up and laughed when he saw the title. “The Ghost Speaks. That’s definitely Jean’s sense of humor. All right, then,” he said, walking back over to where Diana stood, “what do we have over here?”

  They looked down at the three books.

  Letters from the Leelanau.

  Expedition!

  Traces of History.

  “Are you getting anything from this?” he said after a moment when his mind remained blank.

  “Well, they’re all about physical locations. Leelanau is a county up near Traverse City.”

  “It’s also a lake, and a small town,” he added. “Expedition is about Everest. And Traces of History appears to be about Colonial Williamsburg…” He shook his head. “I got nothing.”

  “Nothing jumps out at me either,” she said, frowning down at them.

  “Maybe you should do that thing you do,” he said with a grin.

  He loved it that her cheeks flushed prettily when he teased her. The ice queen was melting.