Judgement By Fire

by O'Connell, Glenys

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Rush. Your cousin Stephen Rush tried to kill me. He’s the one.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  He didn’t know how he was able to keep on walking, talking, functioning, not with this awful wound to his heart. Yet he did. At least on the surface.

  Somehow, he managed to conclude the interview with Pippa, gently wishing her a speedy recovery and thanking her for her help, even though the words of thanks almost choked him. For if Pippa was right, a whole part of his life was a hollow sham. His loyalty to family, something he had learned at his father’s knee and sworn at his father’s graveside, was empty. Worse, his blindness had threatened to destroy everything he held dear. Jon wasn’t at all sure, through the numbness that shrouded him, that some part of him hadn’t already been destroyed.

  “How long have you known?” he demanded of Warren, his flat voice giving no hint of the pain the question cost him.

  They were seated in a corner of the hospital cafeteria, bright orange plastic chairs drawn up against gray Formica topped tables, surrounded by the swish of shoes on vinyl tiles, the smell of fried foods, coffee, and antiseptic. No doubt at some of the other occupied tables, quiet dramas of life and death were also unfolding over cups of cooling coffee and tea, each person huddled in isolation.

  Warren was silent for a few moments, wondering how best to help his friend. There was no easy way to ease the pain Jon must feel to know that he was betrayed by his own flesh and blood.

  “I’ve suspected there was some problem with Stephen for a while, certainly since the newspaper article about the West River project. It didn’t take much to realize that the company source the newspapers were so confident in quoting had to be someone high up in Avalon Hospitality, but I couldn’t figure out what Stephen had to gain from damaging the company.”

  “And when did you begin to put it together?” Jon’s voice was harsh.

  “Jon, this is not your fault. I had more information than you, I should have cottoned on to something when Pippa called and asked to see me urgently. If I hadn’t put her off, she might not be in that hospital bed right now,” Warren said, his own pain and guilt spilling over into his voice.

  The note reached Jon, and he looked over at his friend with a compassion he couldn’t extend to himself.

  “But you put being with me first because you were afraid there’d be trouble in West River and your loyalty insisted that you be there for me,” he said quietly. “And you were right, there was trouble.”

  This time, when he ran his fingers over the puckered skin of the healing wound on his temple, the thought of Lauren brought back no comfort.

  “But we still don’t know why any of this is happening,” Warren said.

  The two men were silent, and Warren felt the passing of time like pressure building on his skull. He had to get through to Jon, make him act, or who knew what else might happen?

  “I have to go and find Stephen, get this sorted out.”

  Warren was aghast. “What the hell is there to sort out, man? Stephen has been siphoning money off from the company into his own pocket. When he thought Pippa was going to blow the whistle on him, he ran her down in the road.”

  “If I can find him, talk to him...”

  “Jon! For God’s sake! The police are looking for Stephen, but even if they find him, they couldn’t hold him long on what we have right now. He’d be sure to get bail. And who knows what he might do? Jon, Stephen tried to run your truck off the road. He didn’t know that Lauren was driving it. That was a warning. Next time he might get serious. He might just kill you.”

  “Stephen’s my cousin.”

  “Don’t give me that family crap. He’s taken you for everything he could get. He’s trampled on your family relationship.”

  Jon’s eyes flashed with anger but Warren wouldn’t back down.

  “Jon, based on everything that has happened, Stephen Rush is a very sick and dangerous man. We have to get the evidence that will keep him out of harm’s way.”

  “You’re right, I know that. It’s just that…Well, anyway. We need evidence, and I’m going to go through the files to see if I can find it.” Jon’s stomach lurched. He was about to scour Rush Co. files to find evidence that would lock his own cousin up. And he had no alternative.

  “Do you have any idea where Stephen may have gone?” Warren asked, relief at having penetrated Jon’s defenses in his voice.

  “None. We were never really that close. Stephen was a hard man to get close to. He could even be out of the country by now.” Jon’s voice held a hopeful note, and Warren didn’t comment on the fact that he was talking about his cousin in the past tense.

  * * *

  “My, Miss Stephens, for an artist you sure do make a good tuna macaroni casserole!” Constable Tom Perry smiled appreciatively as he pushed his chair back from Lauren’s dining table.

  “Well, Tom, I’d love to take credit, but it seems everyone in West River knows my weakness for tuna macaroni. There must be about a year’s supply in the fridge,” Lauren told him.

  “Well, ma’am, any time you need more help in eating it, just give me a call,” the young officer said with a grin. “Now, I’d better be out at the car again, ‘cos if Chief Ohmer catches me anywhere ‘cept where I’m supposed to be, I’ll be on traffic duty in Main Street for the rest of my career.”

  Lauren laughed and walked over to the door with the young man, grateful for his company.

  “Has there been any news at all?” she asked as he stepped out onto the porch.

  “Well, it looks as though they’ve got an identification from the lady who was run down, and they’ve put out an APB on this guy, so don’t you worry. If it’s the same guy who’s been causing you all this trouble, he’d better not show his face around here. The Chief’s fit to have apoplexy already.” With a wave of his hand, Perry headed off back to the police car hidden in the shelter of the trees near Lauren’s house.

  She closed the door, glad to have the protective police presence so close. She set to work tidying away the crockery they’d used for the simple late lunch, then began to go around the house, dusting and polishing the unfamiliar furnishings, rearranging things here and there in a bid to make the little cottage her own again. She marveled at the kindness of her neighbors, although some pieces, such as a pair of horse-shaped lamps with ugly green shades, made her wonder how she could tactfully return them to their owners without appearing ungrateful.

  To that end, she went around the house yet again, making a wish list of all the things she’d like to replace when she had the funds to do so. Not a particularly materialistic person, Lauren realized as she made her way around the house that the items she missed the most all had memories of friends and family attached to them. When she reached the front door, she looked wistfully at the spot where her treasured grandfather clock had stood, remembering its elegant lines and reassuring tick. The clock had been a major find at a house clearance sale that she and Lucy had been at several years before. The price had been higher than she could afford and Lucy had offered to chip in the balance, but the old lady who was selling her possessions prior to moving into a nursing home had been touched by the appreciation for the clock’s beauty she had seen on Lauren’s face.

  “I want this to go to someone who’ll care about it,” she said, naming a dramatically lower price. “My husband bought it for me on our first wedding anniversary, and it was old then. But I’ve always loved it, and I know you will, too.”

  Tears slipped from the corner of Lauren’s eyes. She’d never be able to replace that clock, not just because of the soaring price of antiques, but also because of the story behind it.

  She was thankful when the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Paul said when she opened the door. He eyed the notebook in Lauren’s hand, the pencil pushed behind her ear.

  “Good Lord, Paul, you have no idea how glad I am of the interruption,” Lauren assured him, stepp
ing back to let him into the house before she closed and locked the door behind him.

  “I’m glad to see you are at least taking the security thing seriously,” he said as he watched her flick the dead bolt home.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think my friends could manage to refurnish my studio another time,” Lauren said, grinning at him, “So, I know you’ll have coffee—the coffee bean fairies provided me with a brand new coffee maker.”

  “Believe me, none of us are fairies,” Paul replied, giving Lauren a leering look which caused her to laugh out loud.

  “No, I guess not. How’s Lucy? I am so sorry I haven’t been back to visit her.”

  “I think Lucy understands that you’ve had a fair bit on your plate,” Paul replied dryly. “Of course, she’s furious that she’s stuck inside when so much has been going on out here and can’t wait to get out into the thick of it.” He accepted a steaming mug of coffee from Lauren and settled himself on the corner of the settee. “Umph, you’re right, this isn’t as comfortable as that old thing—or maybe it’s just that the other one was molded to the shape of my behind.”

  “Well, you’re certainly in a good mood,” Lauren commented, pleased at the return of her friend’s sense of humor.

  “Well, some of that’s to do with seeing you look so chipper. Your home’s been ransacked, you were driven off the road, and you’ve been blown up, yet you look better than ever. What’s the secret?” Paul looked serious for a moment, then slapped his fist against his forehead. “I’ve got it. Could it have anything to do with the Jeep that was parked outside all night?”

  Lauren nearly spilled hot coffee in her lap as she reached behind her back for the pillow she threw at Paul, uttering a couple of rude adjectives as she did so.

  “Don’t you miss anything around here?” she demanded, catching the pillow as he threw it back.

  “Nope. More than my life’s worth to miss something as juicy as that out of my daily report to Lucy,” Paul grinned. “And I must say, for the record, I’m really pleased for you. He might be a bottom-feeding pond scum of a company president, but he’s a pretty good guy after that.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like him,” Lauren tried to sound severe, but it didn’t work.

  “Yeah, and I can see by that special glow that you’re pretty happy with him, too.” Paul’s expression grew serious. “Lauren, I’m really glad the police are out there. Whoever this guy is, I don’t think he’s given up yet, and maybe, if he can’t get to Rush, he’ll come after you again instead.”

  “Get to Jon through me?” Lauren’s heart lurched, but she swallowed deeply and managed a grin for Paul’s benefit. “Don’t worry, he wouldn’t get near here. Not only have I got Baby Cop out there—that guy must be all of twenty—but Chief Ohmer’s on the warpath good and proper. I’d almost feel sorry for the guy behind all this if Mike Ohmer gets his big mitts on him!”

  “I wouldn’t waste your time feeling sorry for the likes of him,” Paul said darkly. “Anyway, what I wanted to know is, will you be able to get your bodyguard to shadow you as far as the West River community hall tonight? There’s a meeting of the ABC committee. I may be late getting there – probably will have to hog tie Lucy to make her stay home.”

  “She’s getting cabin crazy, eh? I promise I’ll visit tomorrow! And don’t worry; I’ll be at the meeting. There’s not really a lot to discuss at the moment though, is there?”

  “No, it should be over pretty quick. Maybe afterwards you’ll drop around for a coffee?”

  “Then Lucy can grill me in person? No, I think on second thought maybe your lady wife should have an early night…”

  The house seemed so quiet after Paul had left, and Lauren found herself prowling the small space. She picked up a blank canvas and began to prepare it with gesso, but the task was quickly completed and she knew she had no desire to try to paint. Instead, she tried telephoning Jon’s office, but his secretary said he was out for the day. There was no answer on his mobile number, and Mary Wilson at the farmhouse said he hadn’t called to let her know when he’d be home.

  Lauren felt Mary was holding something back; her tone was shadowed with anxiety, and putting the phone down, she couldn’t help a shiver of worry herself. Where was Jon and what was happening?

  It was almost a relief when the doorbell chimed as she closed her curtains against the growing dusk. Constable Perry was on the doorstep, looking apologetic.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Stephens, but there’s been a massive pile up on Highway 401 and all cars are instructed to go help. The Chief told me to go down there, see if I’m needed, then report immediately back here. He also said to tell that Stephens woman to keep her doors locked and stay inside,” Perry added with a sly grin.

  “Yeah, well, he’s out of luck,” Lauren said, feeling sorry for the young officer when she saw the nervous look on his face. “Don’t worry. I’m just going into the village to a committee meeting. I’ll be surrounded by people for a couple of hours, and you’ll probably be back to stand guard at my door by then. Just please don’t mistake me for an intruder if you’re back before I am and shoot me,” she teased. “Oh, and keep this our secret, and there’ll be another helping of casserole for you.”

  She closed the door on the smiling young man, locked and bolted it, and headed for the shower.

  * * *

  Jon and Warren sat in Pippa Williams’ office, the small desk and all the available spaces around them overflowing with company files. Earlier they’d startled Pippa’s secretary by raiding her stationery cupboard to retrieve the packet Pippa had told them she’d hidden in a copier paper box.

  Since then they’d confirmed everything Pippa had told them about the payments made after orders were cancelled, supplies directed to projects that weren’t owned by the company, and inflated costs on research projects. Yet in the intervening hours, they’d come across little that would constitute hard evidence directly implicating Stephen.

  “I can see enough here to show that someone, and everything points to Stephen, was drawing money off. Large quantities of money, in fact,” Jon said wearily. “But for the life of me, I can’t see where Lauren comes into all of this. Do you think Stephen could be involved there?”

  “Right now, I don’t feel qualified to speak on what your cousin might or might not do,” the other man answered, his voice harsh. “That old guy, Paul Howard, Lauren’s friend, he said it sounded as though this had turned personal. Lauren and I…” Jon’s throat tightened on the words.

  “Yeah, you and Lauren are personal,” Warren said, slapping his friend on the back. “and a good thing, too, if you ask me. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll also check with the West River police, make sure they’re doing their duty babysitting your little friend.” Warren sighed and stretched stiff muscles. “As far as her being driven off the road in your truck, and even being in the area when the information center burned down, it just seems like the lady has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “But what about the damage at her studio? I mean, Warren, whoever did that was pretty angry. And it was somehow, well—personal.” Jon found it hard to believe that Lauren, his bright, warm, honest Lauren, could possibly have done anything to arouse such anger in another human being.

  As if he read Jon’s thoughts, Warren said quietly. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to inadvertently bring some male ego to the boiling point.”

  “So you think that was something apart from everything else that’s going on, like maybe this Steve character – she said his name was Wallace - couldn’t take no for an answer?”

  “It sure looks that way. The ransacking of the studio just doesn’t seem to fit with everything else,” Warren agreed. “I’ll see if I can find anything out about him. She didn’t say where he was from or what he does for a living?”

  Jon shook his head, although something was bothering him about the information. He just couldn’t put his finger on it – his head was buzzing from the files they�
��d been reading.

  “Well, at least we know she’s got police protection, even if it took a lot of persuasion to stop Mike Ohmer from arresting her on the spot!” Jon smiled at the memory of Lauren’s indignation when she realized the Chief thought she might have been responsible for the destruction of the Rush Co. information booth.

  Warren’s answering smile faded suddenly as he was hit by one of those intuitive feelings that often became part of the package in experienced security and law enforcement people. Looking at Jon’s worried face, he bit back the words he almost said, resolving instead to phone both the police chief and Lauren with a warning to be extra vigilant. Something smelled all wrong, but Warren couldn’t put the feeling into context. It was just a sense that they were missing something, some connection that would pull everything into focus.

  Muttering an ardent prayer that he was overreacting, Warren stood and stretched his tall frame.

  “Look, I don’t think I’m a lot of help here. You’re the guy with the inside information about what should and shouldn’t be on the books. I’m going to check in with the police, see what progress they’ve made on the hit and run, then I’ll go around to Stephen’s apartment. Maybe he’s tucked up in bed with the flu and doesn’t know anything about the fuss.”

  Jon blanched as an awful thought hit him, stealing his breath. “You don’t think – it couldn’t be – this Steve who’s bothering Lauren…”

  “You’re thinking it could be your cousin? I doubt it – Lauren said she’s met him at an art show fundraiser for environment. Hardly Stephen’s cup of tea – and it was at a two day conference in Vancouver at about that time.”