Pushed to the Limit (Quid Pro Quo 1)

by Patricia Rosemoor

SYDNEY’S SENSE OF RELIEF practically made her bones melt as she lay her head back against the bucket seat. Suddenly the beauty of the day with its blue sky, white clouds and brilliant yellow sun struck her. She took a deep breath of fresh air lightly scented by the nearby ocean.

  “Do you think we should stop in town and call the police, tell them about Suchet?” she asked as they backtracked the gravel road.

  “Let’s wait until we see what else we find. You’re not even supposed to have left town, remember?”

  “True. And maybe we won’t have to involve him,” she said. “Although I don’t know why I should feel sorry for the man.”

  “I don’t either. If he hadn’t played along–”

  ”My fake Kenneth would have found someone else to do the job,” Sydney stated.

  They were both thoughtful until Benno turned the car back on the road to town.

  “By the way, who witnessed the wedding?” he asked. “Maybe we can get more information from them.”

  “I don’t think either witness would know more than Suchet since he provided them. One was an elderly friend of his named Agnes who played the piano – she was hard of hearing. The other was a ditzy young woman named Tippy who cleans house for him.”

  “Hm, not promising leads. So much for that idea.”

  Sydney was resentful that she was plagued by dreams and visions and intuition when she didn’t want to be but couldn’t even use her “gifts” to prove her own innocence.

  “I know he’s alive,” she said. “There must be some way we can find him.”

  Benno sounded a little odd when he suggested, “We could check out the place you two were staying before you got married.”

  “We weren’t exactly staying together.”

  Sydney grew hot with embarrassment. She felt bad enough that Benno knew a con man had tricked her into marrying him, but having to admit how successful he’d been in seducing her was something she didn’t want to think about, no less talk about. At least not with Benno.

  No matter how much she wanted to deny it, no matter how many times she reminded herself she’d been in love with “Kenneth,” her feelings for him were growing, and there was nothing she could do to stop that from happening. It was as if knowing she really hadn’t been married to his friend – hadn’t been married to anyone – had set her emotions loose.

  “I mean, the whole thing happened so quickly,” she went on, giving him a sideways glance. “The romance was whirlwind, the marriage impulsive. He didn’t spend much time at his hotel in Lincoln City, but he, um, never actually registered at The Cascades where I was staying.”

  She hoped that was enough of an answer for any questions he might have.

  He took a moment to digest her statement before asking, “So there’s no other place we could go to check out someone who might be able to give us a lead?”

  Sydney thought hard. “We had casual contacts, but no one who seemed to really know Ken... uh, him.”

  “So much for that idea.”

  As they drove back through town, Sydney suddenly remembered something they could check.

  “The car. I forgot all about his car. The day we got married, we used mine. He said he’d been having trouble starting his and didn’t want to chance spoiling our wedding day with a breakdown. So we left it in the parking lot at my hotel with the intention of picking it up the next day. Of course taking care of a vehicle was the last thing on my mind after I thought I’d lost a husband.”

  “Chances are it’ll have disappeared as conveniently as its owner. Or it might have been impounded sitting in the lot.”

  “What have we got to lose but a little time?” Sydney asked, her excitement growing. “Maybe he never planned to go back for the car. Maybe it’s still there and we can find out who he is through the registration.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Benno agreed, though he sounded far from convinced.

  This time when they passed Three Arch Rocks, Sydney averted her gaze. Throughout the past days, she’d experienced a gamut of emotions – grief, fear, anger. Now sadness colored her view. She’d been full of positive daydreams of the future when she’d posed for a photo in front of the refuge. Every woman should be able to remember her wedding day as the happiest of her life. Now that hers had been exposed as nothing but a sham, part of some baffling plot, she felt cheated. A lump stuck in her throat.

  As if he sensed her upheaval, Benno reached over and covered her hand. Sydney sent him a swift glance. He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but she would have sworn his granite features softened a bit. Unsettled by an attraction she wasn’t yet and might never be ready to act on, she nevertheless gave him directions to The Cascades, a resort near Lincoln City, without letting on. He considered her a friend, she reminded herself, and she couldn’t ask for a better one.

  Yet Benno didn’t remove his hand from hers until they entered the resort’s grounds.

  And Sydney steeled herself for what was to come.

  The Cascades was an environmentalist’s dream come true, one of several such resorts developed and financed by Reynard Stirling, wealthy industrialist and the Pacific Northwest’s most ardent and outspoken environmentalist. The magnificent setting -- seven hundred and fifty acres between endless ocean and primeval forest -- was inspiring and romantic.

  Here, Sydney had foolishly fallen in love.

  “Keep to the right,” she said, unprepared for the intensity of the memories the place conjured.

  Swimming in a sheltered inlet of the wave-tossed sea... playing tennis on courts surrounded by contoured shrubs and flower gardens... walking through the woods hand-in-hand... dancing by candlelight... making love in front of an open hearth fireplace.

  “How far do I go?” Benno asked, interrupting her retrospection.

  “Oh.” Heart pounding, she snapped to. For a moment she was confused, all the guest buildings looking alike because of the covered walkways connecting them. Then she spotted the giant Sitka with the split trunk that had been part of her view. “Two buildings ahead. Take the drive to the rear.”

  Sydney hadn’t thought returning to The Cascades would be such a painful experience, not after being disillusioned so thoroughly. Having been shared with an imposter, her memories were tainted and yet no less potent. She only hoped time would have the power to heal her wounds.

  “It’s the silver Oldsmobile.” She pointed to the loner at the back of the lot as a thought struck her. “That isn’t the real Kenneth Lord’s car, is it?”

  “Nope. Kenneth drove a Saab.”

  Benno pulled the Thunderbird alongside the more conservative automobile. When they checked its doors, they found all were locked.

  Chagrined, Sydney said, “I hadn’t thought about how we were going to get inside.”

  “We may have to break in.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “Let me count the ways.”

  Wondering where he’d gleaned such knowledge, Sydney frowned as Benno circled the car and ran his hand under the wheel wells and bumpers. She really didn’t know anything about the man’s background, but she didn’t feel as if she were in a position to question it now.

  “I think we should go to the lobby, to Guest Services. I could make up some story... I’m certain guests occasionally lock themselves out of their cars.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” At the rear passenger wheel, Benno straightened. He held a set of keys in his hand. “Key magnets. A car thief’s delight.”

  Sydney couldn’t help wondering if Benno had ever stolen a car himself. She shoved the unpleasant speculation away. She didn’t want to know. She’d had enough experience with dishonesty to last her a lifetime.

  “Why don’t we start by looking for the registration,” she suggested.

  Obliging her, Benno unlocked the passenger door and opened the glove compartment. “No paperwork in here but the owner’s manual.” He pulled it out and flipped through the pages, then held the booklet by o
ne cover and shook. “Nope, no registration, no insurance card.”

  “You’re not surprised.”

  “Can’t say that I am.”

  “So let’s see what else we can find.”

  Benno unlocked the driver’s door for her. Sydney started searching every niche of that side – under the seat, next to the center console, inside the door pockets – and worked her way to the back seat.

  Equally thorough, Benno probed the passenger side. “Not a thing,” he said when he finished.

  “Nothing,” she agreed. “Maybe we’ll get lucky in the trunk.”

  He leaned across the passenger seat and hit a button hidden in the glove compartment. The trunk lid popped up and Sydney circled to the rear of the car. The interior was loaded.

  “This’ll keep us busy for a while,” Benno said, digging into the mess.

  To get to the bottom of the trunk, they had to empty it. Within minutes, the contents were spread along the ground behind the car. They knelt and carefully inspected every item. They sorted through pillows and a blanket, a gym bag with smelly shoes and exercise clothes, a tool box, a plastic bag filled with hangers, loose generic fast food wrappers, and assorted small items equally valueless.

  No name tags, no I.D.’s of any kind.

  “Nothing,” Sydney said in disgust. “What now?”

  “Load her back up before someone sees us, I guess.” Benno rose. With fists balled on his hips, he stared into the trunk as if he could conjure up the information they sought. “Hang on a second.”

  He did a more thorough inspection of the trunk’s empty interior – the wells behind the brake lights, a small storage compartment empty save for jumper cables, the open area under the back seat. Finally, he lifted the rug covering the recessed spare tire and ran his hands around the well.

  Balancing the pillows and blanket on the fender, Sydney heard a crinkling noise as Benno pulled out a wad of brown paper.

  Shaking his head, he straightened the crumpled sack. “The guy’s a real pig. We can use this for his garbage.”

  Sydney dumped the bedding in the empty trunk as he bent over and reached for some of the fast food wrappers. A small rectangular piece of blue paper floated from the mouth of the bag. Benno’s hand flashed out and caught the slip before it hit the ground.

  About to shove it back in the bag, he turned the piece of paper over. “A register tape.”

  Sydney moved close. Her side was pressed against his, yet she still couldn’t make out the figures. “The ink’s so light you can hardly read anything.”

  “This is the important part,” he said, tapping the line at the top. “S-E. A couple of blanks. I-D-E. And a second word. L. Blank. Q. More blanks. Liquor? Something Liquor,” he said with more certainty.

  Sydney tried putting the letters together. “Se–ide Liquor.”

  “Seaside Liquor. What do you think?”

  Tempted to hug Benno, she restrained herself. “That must be it.” Instead, she stepped back to safety.

  Too late. His voice lowered to a throb when he said, “We make some team.”

  Sydney stared into light brown eyes that sizzled with the same excitement she was feeling. But which had provoked the greater reaction – the lead they found or the “some team” part? Her pulse skittered through her as she speculated. Friends, she reminded herself. They were friends.

  Trouble was she was feeling more than friendly...

  Trouble was she had felt that way about the fake Kenneth Lord only a week ago.

  Tearing her eyes from Benno’s, feeling the pulse beating strongly in her throat, she concentrated on the register tape in his hand. “Seaside is so close to Stone Beach that our mystery man could easily have been staying there while keeping an eye on me.” Benno’s eyes were still on her, making Sydney’s heart pound. “Can you read the date?”

  She needed a distraction. She would be foolish to get too close to any man, no matter how appealing, supportive or attractive, in the foreseeable future.

  “July something.”

  “I met him in July,” she said, sobering. “We’ve got to go to Seaside to find him.”

  “If he’s even there now. And Seaside isn’t nearly as small as Stone Beach, you know, and at this time of year it’s loaded with tourists. We can check the liquor store, but–”

  ”We can check the liquor store,” she repeated firmly. “That’s a start.”

  Sydney told herself to remember what was important – her freedom and future well-being. She didn’t need a distraction all wrapped up in a virile male package complete with beard stubble and long hair and a diamond in his ear. She didn’t need a man who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel right now, who filled her with confusion every time they got too close.

  And yet she feared she did need Benno...

  Focusing on his chin scar, she said, “And in the meantime, we can get the authorities to track down the registration of this car.”

  “It’s probably stolen.”

  Brow furrowed, she met his gaze. “Do you have an obsession with stolen vehicles or something?”

  “Not any more,” he said, making her wonder whether or not he was teasing. “I’m just being practical. I don’t think a felon would want a car traced to him... and I don’t think we want the authorities in on this before necessary. You weren’t supposed to leave town, remember? Let me think this through before we do something rash. I’ll write down the license plate and serial numbers. Got a pen?”

  “I think so.”

  Grateful for the distraction, Sydney fetched her shoulder bag from the Thunderbird. She dug through the interior. No pen. As she was about to say so, her fingers brushed the zippered compartment.

  “My God, I forgot,” she said, excitement rising once more. She retrieved the arcade token and held it out to him. “Look. Seagull on one side, boardwalk on the other. Where would you say this came from?”

  “Seaside has a boardwalk.” Benno took the token. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it on the Lord property the day after you saved me from falling off the deck. I went looking for the ring and found the token instead. There were cigarette stubs all around the area. The kind our imposter smokes.”

  Benno turned the arcade coin in his fingers. “Maybe we’re about to find him, after all.”