by Sylvia Nobel
“Your pupils aren’t dilated, so I don’t think you have a concussion,” he concluded, sitting back on his heels. “But you’ve got a good sized goose egg on the back of your head.”
“This still isn’t computing,” I whined.
He laughed. “Relax. Of course, I’m not a doctor, but I have had some medical training. I’m a member of the county sheriff’s posse. Search and Rescue.”
The sheriff’s posse! An uncomfortable shiver ran through me. “How well do you know Roy Hollingsworth?”
“Pretty well.”
“So…you work closely with him?”
He looked puzzled. “On occasion. Why?”
I had a hundred questions I couldn’t ask him so I replied, “Just wondered, that’s all.”
He helped me to a sitting position while I gingerly touched the lump on my head. I hadn’t imagined anything. Someone had meant business. Then it hit me. I’d activated the security system before going into the darkroom. If there had been a break-in, why hadn’t I heard the alarm? Why hadn’t Harry?
Someone must have disarmed it. I slid a suspicious glance in Bradley’s direction. Was it just a coincidence he happened to show up at this particular time? Knowing he worked with Roy left me feeling hollow. Could the shadow have been him? But why would he knock me cold and then revive me? It didn’t make sense.
When I stood the room swayed a little and he steadied my shoulders. “Thank you,” I murmured and then jumped when he quietly asked, “What are you up to, Kendall?”
“Up to?” I hedged. “What do you mean?”
“Come on. You’ve been all over town asking questions about John Dexter. Why?”
I gulped. “How do you know that?”
“People talk.”
Damn. If he knew, so must Roy. Perhaps my charade about the runaways hadn’t fooled him at all.
Just then, Harry appeared at the doorway. He surveyed the confusion and stared at us open-mouthed. “What the hell’s going on here?”
I was surprised when Bradley told him I’d fallen.
“Christ.” he breathed. “I slip out for a lousy ten minutes to get a pack of cigarettes and miss all the excitement.”
I assured him that I was all right and he said good-night. At least I knew now why the security system hadn’t been on. Obviously, Harry had forgotten to re-set it when he left. But that brought forth a frightening scenario. It meant someone had been lurking outside waiting for an opportunity to find me alone. When the next thought struck me, my heart lurched painfully. I’d left the notebook containing all my clues lying right on top of my desk.
It took supreme effort to appear impassive as I hurried to my desk. The sight of the notebook resting beside my purse made me giddy with relief. I clutched it to my chest with a silent vow to never let it out of my sight from now on.
At first, it appeared nothing had been touched, but when I opened the top drawer, it was apparent to me that somebody had sifted through the contents with great care. There were just enough items out of place to tip me off. A feeling of certainty settled over me. This wasn’t the sloppy work of a thief. Someone had taken the bait and followed up on my fabricated tale concerning personal items left behind by John Dexter.
Bradley’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Did you lose something?”
I turned to meet the suspicion in his eyes. “No. I just thought I’d ah…I was just…a…”
“Thinking about rearranging your desk drawers at midnight?”
I dropped my eyes. “No.”
I sensed he was waiting for me to say something, and when I didn’t he persisted, “So, you’re not going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I…I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
It would have been so nice to confide in him, but I held back. “What’s wrong with me being curious about what happened to my predecessor? A better question is why aren’t you curious about what happened to John Dexter?”
Anger darkened his eyes. “He was a sleaze bucket and frankly I don’t care what happened to him after all the shit that came down on me, not to mention the embarrassment he caused my family. I’m just glad he got the hell out of my life.”
This was the opening I’d been waiting for. I’d read all John’s articles and, by their tone, it was obvious he’d thought Bradley responsible for his wife’s untimely death. He’d never missed an opportunity to fan the fires of suspicion.
“Do you want to talk about this?” I held my breath waiting for his answer.
“We were talking about you.”
Positive he planned to stonewall me again, I blurted out, “Bradley, I know what happened to your wife.”
An inscrutable look passed over his face. “So that’s it. I should have guessed. Well, that explains why you’re always so jumpy around me.”
“That’s not true.”
He laughed bitterly. “It’ll never end, will it? My screwed up personal life made for sensational headlines and kept tongues wagging for hours on end with tidbits of juicy gossip. Don’t tell me you’re like some of the stubborn jackasses around town who still believe all that crap about me?”
I hesitated and he growled, “Goddamn it, Kendall! You think I killed her, don’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“But it’s crossed your mind, hasn’t it?” His face was positively fierce and it frightened me. But mixed with the fear was a curious elation. At last I’d forced some genuine emotion from this man who always seemed to hold himself carefully in check.
I wanted to deny it, but all at once a wave of dizziness passed over me. I put a hand to my head and he was at my side immediately. “I’m calling Dr. Garcia.” “I’m okay,” I assured him. “I just need to go home and lie down.” Whoever had attacked me wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of knowing I’d been hurt. I knew the rumor mill would grind out it’s own version of what happened and the last thing I needed was to be the talk of the town. Plus that, I sensed that Tugg was becoming uneasy about my involvement. I knew down deep that he wanted the mystery solved, but how could he, in good conscience, place his old friend’s daughter in danger? The thought was distinctly unsettling, but I’d sunk my teeth into this story and I wasn’t letting go.
“I’ll drive you out there,’ he offered.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is. I’ll stop by in the morning and pick you up.” The stubborn look on his face left little room for argument.
I could have put up a fuss, but I didn’t. On the way home we sat in awkward silence. I hadn’t answered his questions and he hadn’t answered mine. When we reached the house, he insisted on checking each room and then urged me to lock up.
I told him again how grateful I was for his help and he nodded soberly. As he strode to the door, I felt a pang of regret. Suddenly I didn’t want the evening to end on such a sour note.
“Bradley?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“This really has to stop, you know.”
“What?”
“It’s very shattering for my ego to have you constantly running around rescuing me. I mean, this is the third time in a matter of weeks.”
I was glad to see a glint of humor return to his eyes. “I’m just lucky, I guess. By the way, you still owe me dinner.”
“I know that.”
“Well, let’s see now,” he said rubbing his chin. “My fee for this latest rescue operation has upped the ante considerably.”
I feigned horror. “Don’t tell me I have to go bowling or something?”
His laughter lightened my heart. “No. Your payment will be to spend all of Saturday afternoon and evening with me at my ranch where I shall hold you in captivity until your debts are paid.”
Remembering my dinner date with Eric, I was relieved that he hadn’t asked me to come tomorrow. I gave an exaggerated salute. “As you wish, sir. I always pay my debts. And in the future, I’ll try and stay out of trouble.”
He co
cked his head sideways and then said with mock seriousness, “I warn you, if for some reason I should have to rescue you again, the price will be much higher.”
16
I was half afraid Bradley would grill me with questions again when he picked me up the next morning. Instead, we talked about Saturday’s parade, and then he gave me directions to the Starfire Ranch which I scribbled in my notepad.
With gentle good humor, he teased me about my reaction to the Mexican food, saying that I should have listened to him and gone easy on the hot sauce. I grudgingly admitted that he’d been right and told him it would be an extremely chilly day in hell before I ever ate it again. He laughed and assured me that I would grow accustomed to it.
Some of the main streets had been blocked off to prepare for the parade so while he maneuvered the truck through a back alley to the paper I pondered over his mercurial personality. One minute he was dead serious, the next he was full of friendly banter, which probably masked his true feelings about a lot of things. Ginger had said that Stephanie’s death changed him. I wondered what he’d been like before the tragedy.
When we reached the parking lot I thanked him for the ride, but, before I could open the door, he grabbed my left arm and gave me a searching look. “Sure you don’t want to talk about your little episode last night?”
I cleared my throat uneasily. “No.”
He stared intently at me for another minute then released me. “You remind me of my horse, Summer Rain.”
“Really.”
“She’s almost as stubborn as you are.”
“Thanks. I like being compared to a horse.” As before, our verbal clashing of swords had me on an emotional seesaw. When I got out of the truck, he moved to block my way to the building entrance.
“Hold on. That was a compliment.” Mischief sparkled in his deep brown eyes. “It took me two months. She fought and kicked and bit, but you know what?”
I shook my head. He leaned so close to my ear I could smell his aftershave. “Defiant as she was, as headstrong as she was…in the end, I finally did tame her.”
Throughout the remainder of the workday, I tried to analyze how I felt about that encounter along with his carefully camouflaged remarks from the night before. The painful end to my engagement in Philadelphia had left me vulnerable and hesitant about getting involved again, especially with a man like Bradley, who apparently still carried with him a ton of emotional baggage concerning his past. It was strange, but I had the odd sense that he was pulling me to him, yet pushing me away at the same time.
By the time I reached home that evening I was glad for the distraction of dinner with Eric Heisler. It would provide some needed breathing room.
Outside my bedroom window, mourning doves commiserated with each other in low, melancholy flutelike warbles. The brisk wind that had howled all afternoon, kicking up towering dust devils and piling tumbleweeds against the side of the house, slackened as the sun reached for the horizon.
Not having a clue as to where Eric planned to take me for dinner, I had trouble selecting something from my sparse wardrobe. All I knew is that I was hot, and whatever I chose would have to be cool. Finally, I settled on the gauzy white summer dress Ginger had insisted I buy when we’d gone to Phoenix.
The wide cloth belt accentuated my slim waistline and I smiled remembering Ginger’s lament that if only she were tall like me, she could have carried off this particular style with the handkerchief hemline.
I leaned into the mirror to apply eye shadow, and noticed with surprise that my skin, normally never exposed to much sunlight, had taken on a bronze appearance. My mother would be amazed when she heard. She’d always told me most redheads didn’t tan, they just burned. And what was this? A colony of freckles growing on my nose? Oh well. Nothing I could do now. Baking in the Arizona sun was a trade-off for feeling good again.
The hair on the nape of my neck was still damp from the hasty shower I’d taken when I’d reached home a half hour earlier. As I attempted to pin my wild curls into place, a throb of pain emitted as my fingers touched the tender spot where I’d been struck the night before.
There was no question in my mind now that I was onto something big, and it made my stomach quiver with a combination of excitement and anxious anticipation.
After making sure all the doors and windows were locked, I checked my answering machine to make sure everything was working correctly. I’d verified the call-forwarding feature and had my fingers crossed the mysterious woman would phone again.
I slipped on white pumps and couldn’t figure out why I had an attack of nerves as Eric swung his white Mercedes into the curved driveway. My palms were sweaty when I opened the front door.
The guy was definitely hot and looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ. Clad in cream slacks, an open necked lemon-colored shirt and a blue blazer, he flashed me a brilliant smile and handed me a single red rose. “This exquisite creation of nature pales in the presence of your divine beauty.”
I laughed. “Browning or Keats?” I inquired, accepting the flower and adding it to the already stuffed vase of blooms he’d sent me.
“Neither,” he answered lightly, his blue eyes crinkling with humor. “Heisler.”
“You write poetry?”
“I dabble,” he said, ushering me out the front door.
After assisting me into the lush interior of his car, he swooped the filmy material of my dress, which had touched the dusty driveway, and tucked it next to me. In doing so, his hand lightly brushed my thigh. I watched him stride around the front of the car to the driver’s side, and thought he looked almost too perfect to be real.
I don’t know why it came to mind just then, but I had a sudden vision of Eric and Stephanie together. If the rumors of their love affair were true, it wasn’t hard to imagine how intrigued she must have been with this man. He and Bradley seemed as different as two people could be.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we headed out. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. I hope this is all right?”
He took his eyes off the road for a second, surveyed my appearance with apparent appreciation, then returned his concentration to driving. “I planned a very special evening for us and yes, you’re fine. As a matter of fact, you look stunning in that dress and I especially like your hair that way.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. He was certainly front and center with the compliments. Just like the night we met, I was a little awed by his attentions. It was a bit disconcerting since he knew next to nothing about me.
I wasn’t too surprised when he turned onto the road leading to the tennis ranch. “I brought my notepad along,” I said, patting my purse. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you some questions concerning your involvement with the fund-raiser?”
He shot me a quick look of dismay. “Then this is still to be strictly a professional relationship between us? Reporter and subject?” He braked the car in the circular driveway and the young valet jumped to attention.
“We don’t have to talk about business the entire evening.”
“Good,” he said briskly. “I hadn’t planned to.”
It must have pleased Eric to see the place jammed with people. It was a strange fashion mixture of resort wear, evening attire, or tennis togs. All seemed equally acceptable with the casually elegant surroundings.
Eric spoke to and shook hands with a lot of people. He introduced me to so many, it was a struggle to remember all the names. While I chatted with a talkative couple from Vermont, I noticed him cross the room and say something to Doug Sauers who then nodded and left.
When Eric returned, he slipped one arm through mine and led me up a wide stairway that opened onto an outdoor terrace overlooking the golf course. In the soft glow of lavender twilight, the scenery took on a rather silken appearance; the sky, the craggy mountains in the distance, even the prickly pear cactus plants lining the path leading out to the manicured greens.
I’d expected to have dinner with him in the ma
in dining area, and was a little taken aback as he seated me at the solitary cloth-draped table adjacent to the wrought iron balcony. Bougainvillea vines sporting bright pink blossoms climbed lattice-work along the wall while a mister from above surrounded us with a fine spray of water, neutralizing the warm outdoor temperature. The sound of soft dance music drifted up from the lounge below. It was an enchanting setting.
“So, it’s to be just the two of us. Do you entertain all your guests in such a fashion?” I asked, accepting the chilled glass of champagne he handed me.
“Certainly not. I promised you a special evening, so I intend to do my best to make that happen.” He deftly lit the two tall candles on the table, then sat down opposite me.
At that moment, Doug Sauers arrived with a plate laden with smoked salmon, caviar and delicate wedges of thin toast. “I’d say, you’ve made a good start,” I said sipping champagne while he filled his own glass. I could tell by the label on the bottle that it was outrageously expensive.
By the time Doug appeared again with the main course, we had discussed our mutual interest in music, art and literature. When he skillfully steered the conversation to my personal life, I gave him a quick sketch of my background, then concentrated on my poached salmon with dill sauce while he talked about the history of the tennis ranch. Perhaps it was the romantic atmosphere, or maybe it was the champagne, whichever, I finally had to remind myself that I was here on business.
