She fleetingly wondered what kind of man Warren had chosen to be her bodyguard. Would she need protection from the bodyguard? Thompson might be interested in her, but she surely didn’t consider him a possible suitor, and she didn’t want to encourage him. She had felt safer when he was around, but now she wondered how much she could trust him.
Thompson appeared to be about forty years old, but he might be older, for Ellen suspected he dyed his hair and beard. Normal hair usually varied in shades, especially reddish brown hair like his, but Thompson’s hair was always evenly colored. This sign of vanity amused Ellen.
Apparently stymied by her coolness, he made no more personal remarks and threaded his fingers through his heavy stubble of beard. “These whiskers are sure hot in this kind of weather. But I don’t like to shave. My daddy wore a beard, and I’ve kinda copied him, but I mostly wear whiskers to cover up a scar on my face.”
Relieved that he was discussing less personal subjects, and wondering if she’d misunderstood his previous remark, Ellen asked, “Were you wounded in the war?”
With a short laugh, he said, “That’s as good an explanation as any.”
Which meant, Ellen supposed, that it wasn’t any of her business.
After they took the ferry across the Ohio, Ellen leaned back in her seat. Before she dozed, she told Thompson to stop in Daltonville so she could pick up the mail. She only had two letters, one of which had no return address but was postmarked locally. She figured it was from Lane, but she dropped both letters in her handbag as they left town.
“I hope everything is all right at Arrowwood,” she said. “I haven’t rested much the last three days.”
But when they drove up the winding lane, Ellen noticed that her Rolls-Royce stood in front of the porch.
“That’s strange. Who could have had the car out?”
An even stranger sight greeted them when they rounded the corner of the house.
“The garage!” Ellen gasped.
Thompson braked quickly, for the garage to which he’d been heading was no longer there. A pile of smoking ashes marked the spot where the two-car structure had stood. The white bricks on that side of the house were scorched, as was one fender of the Rolls. Acrid smoke stung Ellen’s eyes.
Forgetting his decorum, Bentley ran down the steps to help her out of the car.
“What happened?” Ellen said weakly.
“The fire broke out around four o’clock this morning, Madam. The telephone wouldn’t work, and the cook had to drive into Daltonville to notify the fire department. The garage was gone when the firemen got here.”
Thompson walked around the garage site, whistling tunelessly, taking in every detail. Fannie hustled out of the house, crying, “Thank goodness, you’re home.”
“How did the fire start?” Ellen questioned Bentley.
“We don’t know, Madam. The fire was blazing high when we discovered it, but Annie rushed in to drive out your Rolls-Royce. Even at that, I’m afraid you’ll find some damage to the paint.”
As Ellen entered the house with Fannie at her heels, she stopped suddenly. “Were all of you out of the house during that fire?”
“Yes, we were,” Fannie said belligerently. “We couldn’t stay inside and maybe be roasted if the house had burned.”
“Did anyone come in while you were outside?”
“Not that I saw,” Fannie replied. “But someone must have by the looks of the room where I’ve been sleeping. Go look for yourself, Ma’am. I left the room just like I found it.”
Ellen rushed upstairs and opened the door into Timothy’s room. The desk had been ransacked and its contents scattered around the room. Fannie’s clothes from the closet were piled haphazardly on the floor.
The question was, Did they find what they’d been looking for? Ellen went to the window and called to Thompson, who still surveyed the garage. When he came upstairs, he whistled in amazement.
“What are they so anxious to find in this room?” he wondered. “I’ve got a fingerprint kit, and I’ll try to lift some prints if you can keep people out of here for a few minutes.”
“The sheriff has already been here,” Fannie said. “He snooped all over the house, but Annie and I watched to be sure he didn’t take anything.”
“If that’s the case, there’s no need for me to look for clues,” Thompson declared, rage glittering in his dark eyes. “If he didn’t find anything, he’s messed up any evidence there might have been.”
Ellen went to her room and closed the door. Fear like she’d never known before swelled in her throat. Momentarily, she panicked. In spite of what Warren wanted, she couldn’t stay at Arrowwood. She’d return to Cleveland and put this house up for sale. Let Warren find his own crooks.
“God,” she prayed, “I’m scared. I know I haven’t been a good follower in the past few years. My heart has been so full of bitterness and sorrow that I couldn’t come to You for help. But I’ve never renounced You in my heart. Now I’ve been plunged to the lowest ebb, and the only way out is through You. Give me strength; give me wisdom to know what to do.”
In the quietness of the room, a still, small voice seemed to speak. “Read the letter.”
Her hands trembled as she removed the two envelopes from her handbag. One was a bill, but although the other message was unsigned, she knew it was from Lane.
I saw the fire and came to the house, but I kept in the background until I knew you weren’t there. I’ll go to the boathouse every night at eight o’clock until you come. I’ll walk home with you.
It was amazing how much that message calmed Ellen, and in spite of her suspicion that Lane might know something about the trouble at Arrowwood, she didn’t believe he would ever harm her. After dinner, she drove Fannie into town for a visit with her sister, telling Thompson they’d be back about ten o’clock.
She left Fannie in Daltonville, then turned on a road that bypassed Arrowwood to drive along Apple Creek. She parked her car not far from the estate’s boathouse, and with a flashlight in her hand, tension in her body, and fear in her heart, she found her way through the trees to the boathouse. She was early, but she didn’t want to miss Lane.
It was dark under the trees, and she had to keep the light on, so she knew her approach would be detected if anyone was watching. She stopped in the shadow of the boathouse, and before she turned off the light, she glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes before eight.
She was aware of the night sounds around her. A slight breeze riffled the leaves, insects droned incessantly, and a small animal scurried from the base of the building. Ellen heard water lapping against the bank and, listening intently, she detected the soft swish of oars rippling in the water. Someone was coming, and she prayed it was Lane. Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, and she waited uneasily until a tall figure walked up the bank. It was impossible to mistake Lane’s long, deliberate stride.
“Ellen,” he whispered, and she stepped out of the shadows.
He rapidly closed the distance between them, gathered her into his arms, and drew her head down on his shoulder.
“I’ve been so worried about you. If you hadn’t come tonight, I don’t know what I’d have done. What’s going on at Arrowwood anyway?”
She lifted her head. “I believe the fire was a ruse to distract attention and get everyone out of the house, for during the fire, someone ransacked Timothy’s room.”
“What happened in Cleveland?”
“One of my employees. . .died, and I had to arrange the funeral. He didn’t have any family that we knew of.”
“Did you get away tonight without anyone knowing?”
“I think so. I took Fannie into town to see her sister, and I’m to pick her up about half past nine. I can’t stay long.”
“Did you drive down the creek road?”
“Yes. I’m parked nearby. Why did you want to see me?”
“To know you were all right. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” Bodies touching, they sat on the bo
at ramp, and Lane put his arm around her.
Ellen wanted to tell him everything that had happened since Timothy’s death, but she wasn’t yet ready to risk Marshal Warren’s wrath.
“Lane, why did you sell Arrowwood?”
“It reminded me of too much unhappiness. My parents had died, and I couldn’t find you, so I didn’t want to live here. The man who bought the property from me sold it to someone else before your husband bought it.”
Knowing how Timothy had made his money, it wasn’t much pleasure to own the estate. Once this investigation was cleared up, she’d sell the property too. She’d been foolish to ever consider owning it.
“Perhaps the other owners were scared away by the kind of thing that’s happening at Arrowwood now.”
“Could be,” Lane agreed. “If so, Deerslayer has been one busy Indian.”
“Fannie insists that she saw his ghost during the fire.”
They laughed together at Fannie’s phobias.
“How about planning supper and a campfire on the island before long?” Lane suggested.
“I’d love it,” Ellen said, her heart pounding at his suggestion. “I’ll let you know when there’s a good time.”
Lane held the flashlight, and with his arm firmly around her waist, they walked to the car. He softly stroked her face, pausing momentarily on her lips, which he bent to kiss.
“Let’s meet as soon as possible,” he whispered.
The next morning after breakfast, Ellen approached Annie in the kitchen. “Annie, let’s eat lightly today so you can help me case this house. If you’ll check downstairs, I’ll peer into every nook and cranny on the second floor. I want to find out what someone is looking for.”
“What about the attic? Or the cellar? That’s usually where people hide things.”
“I looked over the cellar a few days ago. During the renovation, the contractors replaced the stone wall and poured a concrete floor. They didn’t leave any hiding places down there, but I’ll check the attic.”
After searching the second floor, and finding nothing of a suspicious nature, Ellen looked for some way to reach the attic. The only entrance was a trapdoor in the ceiling of the rear hallway, so she sent Bentley to find a ladder.
Carrying a flashlight, she climbed into the attic, while Fannie and Bentley, united in their disapproval, held the ladder in place. When she lifted the trapdoor, her face encountered a mass of cobwebs, which indicated that the attic hadn’t been entered recently. Light filtered into the room through two louvered windows at each end of the room.
The flashlight’s soft glow slowly scanned the room, which contained several trunks and numerous pieces of cast-off furniture. She crawled across the rough wooden floor and picked up a scarred metal top that may have belonged to Lane. A pair of skates hanging from the rafters reminded her of the times she’d met Lane at skating parties when the Ohio River froze from bank to bank. She rubbed her hands over the smooth finish of a cradle. She leafed through some children’s books riddled with holes where mice had eaten the pages.
After she inspected the locked trunks, her hands were grimy, so she doubted that the trunks had been opened for years. Convinced that the attic held nothing but memories, she ventured down the ladder. By the time she bathed to rid herself of the dust she had collected in the attic, it was lunchtime.
Fannie frowned at the sandwich and glass of milk that Annie set before them, and Ellen explained, “I told Annie to prepare a light snack so she could help me search the house.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to find what our intruders are searching for before they find it, so if you see anything suspicious, let me know.”
“We should go back to Cleveland, Ellen. I don’t like it here.”
Knowing that Fannie couldn’t be forced away from the trouble at Arrowwood, Ellen said, “I don’t intend to leave for several weeks, but you don’t have to stay.”
Fannie sniffed, Ellen laughed, and the matter was settled.
Six
After lunch Ellen started for a walk, and Thompson fell into step beside her as she entered the woods. Irritation surged through her, and it must have shown on her face, for he said, “Sorry, Ma’am, but Warren told me to keep an eye on you. I telephoned him this morning about the fire, and he thinks someone may be getting desperate.”
“I’m used to privacy, and I don’t like being followed.” How was she going to plan a meeting with Lane if this man dogged her heels?
Without comment, he stayed beside her, and she asked, “Did Warren have any news?”
“He’s making some progress deciphering that book you took him, and he thinks it may be important enough for someone to look for it. Where are we going?” he asked as she plunged down the hillside.
“I’m going to the river.” She had hoped to catch a glimpse of Lane, but not with this deputy marshal following her.
The trail was narrow, and Thompson walked behind her until they reached the boathouse. The door was ajar, and Ellen peered inside. Two motorboats were moored inside the building, and spots of water on the concrete shelf indicated that the boats had been used recently.
“Looks as if there’s been some activity here,” Thompson commented. “If that Indian is doing all of this, he’s a busy ghost,” he added with a laugh.
“We’ll need to put a new lock on this door too. This building was locked when I was down here a few days ago.”
“Want to take one of the boats out, Ma’am?”
“Sure, why not?” She reached for one of the life jackets hanging on the wall.
When Thompson eased the boat out of Apple Creek, he said, “Which way?”
“Let’s circle the island.”
“What’s going on?” Thompson asked, glancing toward the tents on the beach.
“Some archaeologists are working on the island.”
“Powerful boat you’ve got here,” Thompson said as he throttled the boat into full speed and headed north with water spraying in all directions. After a few miles, he slowed the speed and threw an admiring glance in Ellen’s direction.
“You’re a nervy woman. You’re not afraid of a little speed.”
“I learned a long time ago that fears don’t get you anywhere. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t taken chances.”
“I understand you started out here at Daltonville.”
“That’s right. My father was convicted of killing a man and sent to prison when I was twelve years old. If you’ve never lived in a small town, you wouldn’t understand how the residents mistreated me for that. Fannie took me in and mothered me, but when I was eighteen, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I ran away to seek my fortune.”
He grinned at her approvingly. “And from the looks of things, you found it. But I haven’t seen any big welcoming committee from the town visiting you.”
“No, and you won’t. The locals probably won’t forgive me for owning Arrowwood. The Daltons, who owned the estate when I was a kid, once ordered me off the place when they caught me talking to their son.”
“And you’re still bitter about it.”
“Not anymore. I’ve learned that hatred and resentment hurt me more than anyone else. Besides, Daltonville was still home to me, and I asked Timothy to buy Arrowwood. I thought I would be happy living here, but after what’s happened, I think I’ll sell the place.”
Thompson rounded the southern end of the island. “Do you want to pay the archaeologists a visit before we go home?”
“That will be all right. Lane Dalton is one of the archaeologists, and he asked me to stop by and check out what they’re doing.”
“Lane Dalton! You mean the son of the couple who used to own the big house?”
Ellen laughed at the amazement mirrored on Thompson’s face.
“Did you know the Daltons?”
“Of course not, but I was wondering if Lane Dalton might be the one breaking into Arrowwood. Maybe he’s looking for something val
uable his family left behind.”
“I doubt that. All he’d have to do is come and ask me for what he wanted.”
Thompson steered the boat into Apple Creek, and Ellen said, “Decided against going to the island?”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I suspect that you and Lane Dalton were more than friends. Am I right?”
Ellen’s face colored in spite of herself. “Maybe, but that’s all over.”
With an appraising glance, Thompson said, “I wonder.”
❧
“Mr. Warren!” Ellen said when Bentley ushered the marshal into the living room the next morning. “I’m surprised to see you.” Since she assumed his presence signified a crisis of some kind, she added, “What’s wrong now?”
He held up his hand reassuringly. “Nothing new. I hate to admit it, but we aren’t having much luck with our investigation. I came down today to check out the fire and that archaeology project on Indian Island. Thompson tells me Lane Dalton is over there, and considering his connection with this house, I’d better have a talk with him.”
Ellen’s face flushed with irritation that Thompson had reported that. Annoyed with herself that she’d mentioned Lane’s presence to the officer, she said sharply, “Lane Dalton isn’t a criminal!”
“Probably not, but at this point, we have to suspect everyone. Thompson says you know Dalton, so you might as well come along and make the introductions.”
“How am I going to introduce you?”
“Just my name. I don’t want anyone around here to know my profession.”
Thompson had put a new lock on the boathouse the day before, so Ellen took the key from a desk drawer, and they headed for the river. In spite of his bulk, Warren walked briskly at her side. When she unlocked the gatehouse door, she motioned to the smaller craft.
“Show me how me to operate the boat,” she said to Warren. “I don’t intend to stay cooped up in Arrowwood all summer. Perhaps I can do some fishing.”
With a few suggestions from Warren, she managed to start the motor, and she steered the boat down the creek with moderate speed toward the island. They landed on the sandbar beside the tents, but since no one was in sight, Ellen said, “There’s an Indian mound farther up the bank among the trees. Maybe that’s where they’re working.”
Love Almost Lost Page 6
