"If I were you, I'd consider skipping the retreat this year."
"And spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?" Her eyes flashed anger. "Listen. Everyone I work with will be right there. I'm certain that whoever is doing this will try again. With you there watching, maybe we can catch her. Before she succeeds."
"What?" The tone of my voice frightened the cats. Gammon jumped down from Allison's lap.
"Don't you see? No one knows you're a private investigator. You'll be just another businesswoman at the retreat. We can pretend to meet the first night and hit it off. While everyone thinks you only have eyes for me, you'll really be keeping your eye on them. That way, you can interact with my inner circle without raising suspicions."
"You want me to pose as your girlfriend?" My expression must have shown more than I intended.
She laughed. "Is that such a horrible notion?"
"No, I didn't mean that." For some reason, I found myself blushing. "It's just that, I mean, I've never worked undercover before." It sounded pretty lame and I knew it.
"You are a private investigator?" She was daring me to turn her down.
"Well, yeah, but... I don't know. This seems like something the police should be handling."
"That's what Martha said. But then she came up with this, and I think it just might work."
"This was Martha's idea?" I was going to kill her. She was forever getting me in over my head.
"Well, we sort of thought it up together. It could work, don't you think?" She went on quickly before I could answer. "And even if it doesn't, what other choice do I have? I don't think they're going to give up easily. I'd feel better just knowing someone was watching out for me. I mean, if you decide to take the case, that is. As it is, I haven't slept in weeks."
It was true her eyes were ringed with dark circles. My mind was racing, trying to think of some reason why I couldn't accept this case, but the truth was, it wasn't a bad plan. If in fact her would-be murderess worked for Women On Top, then it was likely that she'd try again at the retreat.
"Why are you so sure that it has to be someone from the office? I mean, aside from the bees and those notes, there doesn't seem to be any connection. What about family members, lovers, co-workers at the hospital?"
"Women On Top is my family. Period." She looked up, daring me to challenge this assertion. When I said nothing, she went on. "As for lovers, well, that's why I suspect it's someone on my staff. Between my private practice and my work in the organization, I don't have much time for a private life. But that doesn't mean I want to live a life of celibacy. I've always been upfront with the women in my life about just how much time and energy I'll be able to give them. Over the years, I've dated a few of the women I work with. That's what makes this so difficult. Not only are these women my friends, quite a few of them have been my lovers."
Her gaze held mine, challenging me once again to find fault with this admission. She was an intriguing woman, I thought. Vulnerable one second, intensely direct the next.
"I'll need to know which ones," I said.
"I made a list." She dug in her purse and I thought I detected a faint blush, which was gone by the time she handed me the folded sheet.
"I put an asterisk next to those who've spent the night in my home. They're the only ones who could've known what I eat every morning. Also, I think the person must've taken a key to my house and made a copy. I leave the house locked, and there was no sign of forced entry. Yesterday I had all the locks changed, just in case."
I didn't tell her that with a little skill and the right picks, a person could break into most homes with relative ease without leaving a trace. I unfolded the single sheet and my eyes widened. It seemed Allison Crane was sleeping with, or had slept with, over half of her current staff. Of the seven names on the list, five had asterisks.
"Well, gee. This narrows it down." I tried not to grin.
"I was afraid you'd say something like that." This time, the blush was unmistakable. "Keep in mind that's over a long period of time. I mean, it's not like I was sleeping with them all at the same time."
"Any of them still pining away?" I asked. "Any feel jilted? Jealous perhaps?"
"I really don't think so. Like I said, I've been honest about how much I can give. I don't think anyone harbors ill feelings toward me."
Except that obviously somebody did. "When exactly does this retreat take place?" I asked.
Her voice was suddenly girlish. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I was incredulous. Could I possibly get everything together in time?
But Allison was beaming. "Then you'll do it? Oh, thank you! I was afraid you were going to say no. I've already arranged for your cabin. There was a last-minute cancellation, and with a little maneuvering, I managed to get us an adjoining suite. That way, you can keep an eye on my room." She was positively radiant.
"Looks like you've thought of everything," I said, slightly miffed. I wasn't used to other people making my decisions.
Allison seemed to sense my mood. "I can't tell you how grateful I am." She got up and came to stand in front of me. "I know you're not eager to take this case, but you really are my best chance. Even if you're not able to figure out who's trying to kill me, you can at least act as my bodyguard. Just knowing you'll be there, I feel a hundred percent better. In fact, I think I'm even starting to look forward to the retreat again. It really is one of the prettiest places I've ever been. You'll like it."
Her whole countenance had changed and her face lit up with enthusiasm. It was hard to resist her. I got directions and instructions about what to bring on the trip. I went over my fees with her and she wrote me a ridiculously large check as a retainer.
"In case the murderer is successful," she said, "and I'm unable to pay you the rest."
"If she is, then I won't have done my job," I said, sounding more confident than I felt.
"But at least you're willing to try. That's all I can ask."
I walked her out to her boat and we stood on the dock facing each other. Ospreys dove for fish in the sunlit water, making giant splashes, while others circled overhead filling the air with their cries. Allison's eyes seemed to sparkle in the sun and for the second time that morning, we shook hands.
"Thank you, Ms. James," she said.
"You might as well call me Cassidy," I said, "seeing as how we're going to become sweethearts." I grinned and untied the rope, tossing it in the little boat. I shoved her off and watched the boat slice across the water until it was out of view. Then I marched back up to the house, planning my verbal assault on Martha.
Chapter Three
"It was not my idea!" Martha insisted. "I told her to call the police in Portland. Even gave her a name. She said she needed someone she could trust, someone who could maybe go undercover. It was her idea, Cass. I just gave her your name. Honest."
It was impossible for me to stay mad at Martha. I sighed.
"How'd you get out of it?" she asked.
"I didn't."
"You mean you're going? Really?"
"You think I shouldn't?" I was already regretting my decision.
"Actually, I think there's a chance it'll work. If someone really is trying to kill her, she could use some protection. And posing as her girlfriend will allow you to blend into the woodwork. I'd volunteer myself, except too many people know I'm a cop. Too bad you can't take Maggie, though. I hear that retreat is really something."
"How come you're not going?" Martha rarely missed an event sponsored by Women On Top.
"The place is booked like a decade in advance. I'm surprised she was able to get you a cabin."
"Well, she is the president. I think she pulled some strings."
"Come to think of it, there's not much that Allison Crane couldn't pull off, once she set her mind to it. She's a special lady, Cass. It's hard to imagine anyone wanting to hurt her, let alone kill her. But after talking to her, I don't think she's imagining these attacks. You want me to take care of the beast
s?"
"No, I'll get Rick and Towne to do it. They're closer. Besides, Rick likes to take them out to their house. Towne's even thinking of getting him a kitten for his birthday. This would be a good trial session."
"Have you told Maggie yet?" Martha asked.
"Not yet. I was anxious to yell at you," I said. "Oh, damn."
"What?"
"I just remembered. Our anniversary is next weekend."
"I'm sure Maggie will understand, Cass. This is, after all, a pretty important case. You can celebrate when you get back."
"I know. But after all the hassles we went through to start with, this anniversary is kind of special."
"Of all the women in the world, Cass, Maggie Carradine will understand. She's a shrink, for God's sake. They can handle life's little disappointments."
Buoyed by that remark, I called Maggie as soon as I hung up from Martha.
"A whole week?" Her disappointment knifed through me.
"It's a life-and-death kind of thing. Someone is trying to kill the poor woman."
"What kind of retreat is this?"
"Uh, it's like a corporate retreat, I guess. Different organizations rent it out."
"And which organization does this client belong to?" She was trying to be polite, but her voice had an edge.
"Women On Top," I muttered.
"What?" I could just imagine her green eyes flashing. "You're going on a lesbian retreat? For a week? Were you going to skip that part?"
"Of course not," I said, not sure if it was true. "I just hadn't gotten to it yet. Don't get weird on me, Mag, this is just a job."
She heaved a heavy sigh. "I know, Cass. I can't help it, though. It's my one little character flaw. If not for being jealous, I'd be perfect."
"This is true. In fact, even with your one little character flaw, you are perfect. I promise, I won't even look at any of the women there. My job is to figure out who's trying to kill this woman, and as soon as I do, I'm out of there."
"What's she look like?"
"Who?"
"This poor little client. You make her sound old and frail. I just wondered what she looked like."
"Uh, well. She's got red hair and she's about my height. On the thin side. In her late thirties, I'd guess."
"Oh, terrific."
"What?"
"She's gorgeous, isn't she?"
"Not at all. Why would you think such a thing?"
"What is she, a secretary or something?"
"You mean for Women On Top? She's the president."
"The president. How nice. And what does she do for a living, pray tell?" Maggie's voice had taken on a distinctly caustic tone, and I wondered just how long the incident with Erica Trinidad was going to haunt both of us.
"She's an M.D.," I mumbled.
"Oh, lovely, a doctor. This is nice. A presidential doctor. A gorgeous red headed presidential M.D. Poor little thing. No wonder she needs big strong Cassidy James to protect her."
"Maggie, you're definitely getting weird here. The woman is being stalked by someone in her organization. Her job and title have nothing to do with it. Neither does her hair color. Would you feel better if she were a poor, ugly, bald trash collector?"
"Yes," she said. To my relief, she started to laugh and so did I. "I'll miss you, that's all," she said.
"I'll miss you, too. I guess we'll have to celebrate our anniversary when I get back."
"Our anniversary?"
"You didn't remember?" I was crushed.
"Of course I remembered, you bozo. You thought I'd forget something as significant as this? I may have a slight jealous streak, but I'm not a schmuck!"
I had a feeling I'd be spending a good part of the rest of my life battling that "slight jealous streak," and the thought warmed me. I could live with it. In fact, I was looking forward to it. I told her so, and she laughed.
By the time we hung up, I was pretty sure she knew that I loved her beyond reason. Thank God I hadn't mentioned the part about me posing as Allison's girlfriend. If she knew that, I might as well not even bother to come back.
Chapter Four
Monday came so quickly, I barely had enough time to get my things in order. Allison had told me to pack lightly, that the second leg of the journey was by horseback and that all of our belongings would be brought up the mountain by mule.
"What kind of resort is this?" I asked. I'd been picturing hordes of women lying by the pool on chaise lounges sipping piña coladas.
"Rustic," she'd answered, "but incredibly well-stocked. It's high up in the mountains and totally secluded which is part of the charm. Even having to ride the horses adds to the sense of being away from the real world. People pay a lot of money for the privilege of roughing it in style. It gets cold at night, though, so bring some warm clothes. Mount Hood is just over the hill."
So I'd thrown in jeans, sweats, a swim suit, two nice outfits, a jacket, and a couple of pairs of shoes. I didn't want to overload my bag with clothes, because I also wanted to take along some new surveillance gadgets I'd bought but hadn't had the occasion to use. Unfortunately, the extra equipment made my bag a little heavy.
"Jesus, what do you have in this thing?" Towne complained, hefting the bag over his shoulder. He worked out on Nautilus three times a week, so I didn't think he was in any trouble. Still, I worried about the mules.
"I've got a pair of binoculars that look like sunglasses," I said, pleased he'd asked. "And a really cool video cam that's so small I can hide it almost anywhere. Also, a pretty neat tape recorder that can transmit sounds within a thirty-foot radius back to wherever I happen to have my cordless phone. I just hope they have phone service up there. If not, my laptop won't be of much use. I guess it is kind of heavy."
"No gun?" he asked, mustache twitching with humor.
"Oh, well, yeah, that too. You sure you can manage?"
He rolled his eyes and swung around toward the living room. Rick was sitting in my favorite blue swivel chair, both cats huddled on his lap.
"We're really gonna miss you," he said.
"Yeah, I can tell. Come here. All three of you."
Rick obediently carried both cats over to where I stood while Towne carried my bag down to the boat. I rubbed Gammon between the ears and scratched Panic's chin. I stood on my toes and kissed Rick on the cheek.
"You painting anything yet?"
Ever since a madman had sliced up all of his paintings a year ago, Rick had been unable to start painting again. Towne had saved the shredded pictures, and was trying to get some of them repaired, unbeknownst to Rick. No one was pressuring him, but the longer he went on without picking up a paintbrush, the more everyone worried. Maggie, who'd been his therapist years ago, had started working with him again, though she'd been hesitant because of their friendship. Recently, she'd confided that she thought it was doing some good.
"I have some ideas," he said, "but I don't want to jinx them by talking about them. Who knows? Maybe by the time you get back, I'll have one done."
"Oh, Rick." I didn't dare say anything more. Maggie kept insisting that the worst thing we could do was to put pressure on him. So I squeezed his hand and turned away before he could see the emotion in my eyes.
"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine!" he called. I knew the cats would be. It was Rick I worried about.
"He says he has some ideas," I told Towne as I got into my Sea Swirl.
"He's been holed up in there for a week now. Won't let me in and won't talk about what he's doing. I just hope to God he's actually painting. But I'm scared, Cass. What if it's terrible? I mean, what if he's really lost it?"
Towne's eyes were sad even when he was happy. At the moment, they looked positively mournful.
"You can't lose your creative touch, I don't think. Besides, anything Rick Parker does is beautiful. Quit worrying, Towne. If he's holing himself up, it's definitely a good sign. Does Maggie know?"
"I'll call her tonight," he said.
"Well, tell her I miss her alread
y, and that I looked like hell, I was so lonely. Okay?"
"Actually, I was thinking you looked pretty damned perky."
I reached down and splashed him with water.
"But I'll tell her you were death warmed over."
"Thanks, buddy. Take care." I eased the throttle into forward and pulled away from my dock, feeling like a kid leaving for summer camp, suddenly scared, lonely and regretting the whole thing.
But this was, I reminded myself, precisely why I'd let Martha talk me into becoming a P.I. in the first place. There was someone in danger and I might just be able to do something about it. A ridiculously noble thought, I knew, but the very hogwash that drove me.
So I stuffed my other emotions back where I could ignore them and pushed the throttle forward, letting the wind whip my face as I sped across the lake. I'd have enjoyed it more, but my mind suddenly returned to the dream and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was trying to warn me of something dreadful.
It was a nice day for a drive. There were a few fluffy clouds high in the sky, but the sun was strong and except for an occasional logging truck, traffic was light. The road followed the Umpqua River through thick stands of Douglas fir and cedar. Herds of giant-antlered elk grazed in protected clearings, and ospreys fished along the riverbank. I rolled the windows down and let the cool air rush in, singing along with a Sophie B. Hawkins CD, the volume cranked up.
When I reached Interstate Five, I drove north, pushing my Jeep Cherokee past the speed limit, keeping one eye on the mirror for cops. By the time I reached Portland, I was famished. All I'd had that morning was a piece of toast and some coffee. I looked at the map and did some quick calculations. I'd have to hurry to reach the base camp by three. If I didn't make it, I'd have to wait until morning and join the non-horse riders on a bus ride that Allison said took even longer than the horse trail because it wound half-way around the mountain. And I'd promised Allison I'd be there tonight. Ignoring the growling in my stomach as I passed a McDonalds, I pressed onward.
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