Chapter 1
THE Javalina Cantina had still not quite hit fever pitch when Matt pushed through the door and walked out into the heat that shimmered up from the asphalt parking lot. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the stale, dead air inside the bar or the stifling heat outside. While midnight was only minutes away, the asphalt still held a store of heat from the day that it released consistently throughout the night. The high humidity of the summer rainy season kept the air thick and cloying, making him feel almost as if he were trying to breathe through a wet towel over his face. There was no getting around the fact that July in Lake Havasu, Arizona, was just plain ugly.
Not that his customers cared. Owner of a water sports shop, Matt Stone did a brisk business this time of year with Sea-Doo and Waverunner rentals, bathing suit sales and all other things wet and fun. While older folks, “snow birds,” flew north for the summer back to Michigan or Washington, the younger generation more than made up for the lack by invading Lake Havasu with plenty of money and beer coolers in hand. As long as California did not slide off into the ocean, Matt couldn’t help but make money.
“Hey,” Simon called, bursting through the door behind him. “You’re not going, are you?” Simon Alvarez was one of Matt’s employees, shorter and stockier and full of energy. Simon spent a good part of his workday checking out the tourists on the personal watercraft, making sure they could function out in the water without killing themselves or losing the craft. His hours in the Arizona sun just turned his normally brown skin even darker. He and Matt occasionally ended a night at the bar, decompressing from the business of the day.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Matt said. He’d stepped outside to clear his head of the smoke, the noise, the smells, but heading home was sounding more appealing as the moments went by. He was a little tired of all the commotion inside.
“It’s still early,” Simon said. “Come on back in and have another beer.” Simon’s words were only slightly slurred; he was obviously not quite parboiled yet.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Matt reminded him. “We open at seven. I’d like to get a little sleep before then.”
“Seven?” Simon groaned. “Oh, shit, this is Friday, isn’t it? Damn.”
“You go back in if you want, but I will see you at seven,” Matt suggested heavily, his ice blue eyes as cool as shadowed snow.
Simon mulled over his choices. Younger than Matt by several years, he was not that far removed from the college crowd they served; finally the lure of one more beer won out. “I’ll be there,” he said. “But in the meantime ...” Smiling crookedly, he disappeared back into the depths of the bar.
Matt just shook his head. He felt old. At thirty he was no senior citizen, but sometimes the demands on his life weighed him down. The store, his mother, Carrie … How did he end up being Mr. Responsible? He used to be more like Simon, more willing to close down a bar than walk away from one. He glanced back at the cantina, hearing the music and laughter inside. Truth be told, he didn’t even want to go back in, so it wasn’t as if he were denying himself. Tonight he just felt … tired.
Sighing, he walked to his car and lowered his tall, lean frame into the sleek sedan’s front seat. Turning the key, he remembered when the low, throaty rumble of the V-8 soothed him like nothing else. Not tonight. He pulled out of the deserted parking lot and headed for the London Bridge and home.
The London Bridge, he decided as he drove up the approach, had to be the ultimate in kitsch. Leave it to an American to bring the storied stone bridge from England and plop it down over a spit of river in the southwest desert. Before that, Lake Havasu City was nothing but a trailer park beside the Colorado River; now it was known everywhere because it had THE BRIDGE. The aged span sported Union Jacks and ornate lamp posts at intervals, objects more at home with bone-chilling fog than the hot desert air that bleached out the colors and faded the metal. It was the ultimate incongruity—
Suddenly a dark form, blacker than the night sky and human-shaped, appeared directly in front of his car. He had no time to jam on the brakes or swerve, although he did both, but before the car could respond he had barreled directly over or through the thing standing in the road. Immediately hauling the sedan over to the side of the road, he set the brake and popped the car into neutral. Without even checking for traffic, he scrambled from the car and ran back to see what he had hit. He just prayed to God it wasn’t dead.
Heart pounding, he searched the dark roadway. It was empty. No trace of anything wet on the pavement that might have been blood, not even a stain. Even his frantic braking had not left a mark. He glanced further down the road to see if a truck or a bus had preceded him, perhaps belching exhaust or smoke, but there were no other moving vehicles anywhere. He considered a low-hanging cloud but knew no cloud ever looked like that, black and almost solid. He scanned the lanes in both directions, searched the sidewalks on both sides. Nothing. He even glanced over the sides of the bridge, noting that the ripples in the water below reflected only the normal flow of the river, nothing like what he would expect if something had fallen or jumped from the bridge. There was no evidence that there had been anything there at all.
Breathing deeply, still shaking, he shook his head as if to clear it. He wasn’t that loaded. He hadn’t even finished his second beer. How could he have imagined something so real? He hadn’t been nodding off; he wasn’t sleepy before and certainly was not now. There was no reason for him to see something that wasn’t there. He looked again westward down the roadway toward the island; nothing there at all, not even a leaf moved in the heavy air. It just didn’t make any sense.
He walked uneasily back to the car and examined it. The front was unmarred and shiny, as clean as the day he washed it last week. There were no dents, no bits of fur or fabric caught in the grille. He remembered the fleeting sense of the dark shape coming at the windshield but when he examined it, there were no scratches, no marks. There was nothing to indicate he had encountered anything at all.
“This is nuts,” he said to himself. Wiping his face with a still shaking hand, he pushed the shock of thick black hair off his forehead. His reaction, the way he felt, was completely at odds with the fact that there was nothing there. Obviously there was no reason to stay, no reason to search anymore, yet he felt leaving would be irresponsible somehow. He had an uneasy sense of incompletion, yet … what was there for him to do?
“There’s nothing here,” he said out loud. His own voice ringing in the emptiness of the night irritated him. “Screw it,” he said finally and got back into the car. Checking his mirrors, looking around in all directions, he slid the gearshift into first and pulled slowly away from the curb. Gaining speed gradually, he continued to monitor his rear view mirror as he drove on across the bridge.
He saw nothing else all the rest of the way home.
The next morning Matt was focused squarely on what would be another busy day. The crappy taste in his mouth was the only reminder of last night and he scrubbed that away before he left the house. Already the sun was blazing and tourists were flocking to the English Village. He had no room in his mind for anything but the store.
He was fortunate that his place, FunRunners, was one of the few that had riverfront access. Because he maintained his own dock in front of the store, his watercraft could be taken out directly, eliminating any need for his customers to wait their turn at the crowded boat ramp. That added to the fact that his store was only steps away from the English Village, an arrangement that couldn’t be better. As long as he kept his prices competitive, he had more business than he could handle.
Bruce Glazer, his mechanic, was already in the back shop working on a Sea-Doo that tended to crap out in rough wakes. Having that one down left Matt with only two units unreserved for the day, so it would be first come, first served for those. With the forecast high standing at 104º, he was sure those would go quickly. On hot, muggy days like this, everyone wanted to hit the water early.
“Any chance of havi
ng that one back in the water later today?” he asked Bruce. The older man, a scrawny Harley bum, frowned as he assessed the Sea-Doo. His thinning long hair was caught back in a pony tail, a bandana tied around his forehead. Tall and thin, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Icabod Crane in jeans and t-shirt. He already had grease on one cheek and up one arm to the elbow. Bruce had the mind of an engineer and the instincts of an inventor. Matt knew more than one machine in his fleet had Harley parts on it. If anyone could get the machine straightened out, Bruce could.
“Maybe,” he allowed finally. He didn’t bother to face Matt, still glaring at the machine before him. “I still haven’t figured out why the choke keeps closing up.”
“Well, do what you can,” Matt asked. Bruce nodded and took his wrench to the Sea-Doo at a different angle, already beginning his process of elimination.
Matt let himself into the store and locked the door behind him. Only 6:45 A.M.; he still had fifteen minutes of peace. Already the tourists were strolling the riverfront, cups of coffee in hand. He had no doubt by the time the clock struck seven, there’d be a knot of them standing at the door.
He started his own pot of coffee in the office and glanced through the mail from yesterday. Bills, junk mail, sales offers. Everyone wanted a piece of a successful business, he thought. But of course being successful was infinitely better than being a failure; then, no one wanted anything to do with you. He had to admit, he had damn little to complain about.
He poured himself a short cup of coffee and sipped it as he stood looking out at the river. The sun glinted sharply off the waves that spread out behind boats already cruising up or down river. It was definitely going to be a hot one today. He was surprised to see a few small clouds hugging the southern horizon. Maybe the thunderstorms that built up over Mexico during the day would actually bring a chance of rain. Probably not. Automatically he glanced at the flags that fluttered from the London Bridge. Breeze blowing out of the east; might be a chance for showers after all.
Noticing the tourists strolling across the bridge reminded him of that “incident” last night. What the hell was that, he wondered again. He could still remember that gut-squeezing feeling as the front of his car shot through the shadowy thing. He’d never hit anything substantial with a car yet and after last night, he hoped he never did. That was as close a call as he’d ever want.
The door opened to the chime of the bell above it and Susie Gee came in. Closing and re-locking the door behind her, she breezed past Matt to the office.
“Hey, boss,” she said lightly. “You look deep in thought. What’s up?”
“Morning, Susie,” Matt said. “Just gearing up for the day.”
“Yeah, it’ll be a busy one,” she said from the office. She stashed her small pack in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet, then got herself a cup of coffee and joined Matt near the window, her khaki shorts and logo-embroidered dark blue polo shirt an exact match for Matt’s. Mid-twenties, small and petite, Susie was a live wire. Matt had liked her energy and sense of humor enormously when he’d interviewed her, and he had guessed she would be a good addition to the store. He had not been wrong. She never flagged, not even after a long day, and always gave friendly personal attention to customers, be it 7 A.M. or 4:45 P.M. She also kept the employees in line—including Matt—and was not the least bit afraid of confrontation. Her small stature might fool someone at first, but people quickly found out that if Susie had a problem, it would be dealt with. She took no crap from anyone. Anyone who took her small form at face value did so at their own peril.
“The way you were staring at the bridge, I thought you saw something,” she said.
Matt glanced at her sharply. “Saw something?”
“Yeah,” she said, her almond-shaped eyes intent on his face. “Why? What’s going on? You look … anxious.”
Matt fought with himself. Leave it to Susie to pick up on the subtle nuances of his feelings. She was good at that and seldom let it pass. There was once a point where her sensitivity and caring seemed hugely desirable to him and he’d seriously considered dating her. He had thought then that any advance on his part would not be rebuffed, but common sense had prevailed and he’d kept his distance. Now she was probably his closest female friend, no small feat for a man who tended to hold almost everything in.
He debated about lying to her but thought better of it. He was a lousy liar, anyway.
“I did see something,” he began finally, “last night. I was coming across the bridge from the cantina and there was something in the road. I went right through it.”
“Oh, not a dog, I hope.” Susie was soft-hearted to a fault and couldn’t bear to see any animal in pain. “I get so mad at these yo-yos that let their dogs run loose.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Matt smiled. Once Susie had seen a dog just barely miss being hit by a car outside the shop and she had rushed out to check on the dog, then launched into a tirade on responsible pet ownership just inches from the face of the luckless owner. Whether the lecture had made an impression in the long run they would never know, but at least the guy had leashed his dog before he slunk away, clearly embarrassed by the pint-sized dynamo that had attacked him.
“Oh, yeah,” Susie grinned, knowing full well to which incident Matt alluded. “Well, you know how I am.”
“That I do,” Matt agreed. “But, no, this wasn’t a dog. I don’t know what it was. When I went back to look, there was nothing there.”
Susie frowned. “What do you mean, nothing there? Did it jump off the bridge?”
Matt shook his head. “I checked over the sides of the bridge and there was no disturbance in the water on either side. There was no blood, no marks, nothing. Whatever it was—and it was big—it just disappeared.”
“Big like a Great Dane?” she asked, obviously still visualizing a dog.
“No.” Matt paused. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to say this out loud. Susie waited. “It looked … when I first saw it, I thought … a person was standing there.”
Susie’s eyes widened slightly. “A person?” she echoed. “And you hit it?”
Matt sipped his coffee, not meeting her eyes. He could guess how nuts that sounded. “I can’t say that I really hit it,” he qualified. “There was no impact, no bump. But I went right through it. I didn’t have time to stop. It just appeared in front of my car and I plowed right through it.” He finally glanced over at her, his blue eyes hard. “And I wasn’t loaded. I’d just left the cantina, but I only had one beer.”
Susie dismissed that; she knew Matt rarely overindulged. “But what did it look like?” she pressed. “Was it a man or a woman? Could you see the face?”
He shook his head. “It was just … black. It was just a shape, like a silhouette, but it looked like it had substance. I was sure it was a person, but beyond that, I couldn’t tell.”
Susie straightened with a sudden thought, one hand on his arm. “Oh, you know what? That could have been the Lady in Black!”
“Lady in Black?” As Matt said it, he remembered something he’d read ages ago, something buried in the tourist guide throw-arounds that were available on every corner. “You mean the ghost?”
“Yeah,” Susie nodded, clearly excited by the prospect. “The lady ghost that came over with the bridge from London. That would explain why there was nothing there when you went back. You know, they have those ghost tours every evening on the bridge. Wow, that is very cool to see a real ghost. I wish I could see one.”
“See one what?” Simon asked as he slid around the door. “Hey, did you know it’s after seven? Do you want this door still locked?”
Matt snapped to attention, secretly relieved that opening time would forestall further discussion. “No, go ahead and leave it open,” he said. He tossed his paper cup into the trash. “I’m sure our public awaits.”
The day was much as they had expected. All the watercraft were rented out by 8:30 and they had to turn away several groups of late arrival
s. They did a brisk business in snorkel and fin rentals, sold some knee boards and even a windsurf board. By 2 P.M. things had started to wind down.
Matt felt his cell phone vibrate and checked the screen. It was a text message from Carrie, short and direct: Lunch? He ducked into the office and closed the door, then dialed her number.
“How is it,” he asked, “that you know the exact moment I have time to even think about lunch?”
Carrie laughed. “My ESP must be working today. I figured you’ve probably been so busy you haven’t eaten a thing, but by now you ought to be able to get away. Let Susie and Simon take care of things for a bit and meet me at the Rose.” The Rose was a Tudor-styled pub and sandwich shop in the English Village. It was close and quick, even if the lunch fare had become less than inspiring over time.
“Be there in ten minutes,” he told her.
“Make it five,” she said. “I’ve got a table by the front window.”
Matt walked briskly to the Rose; now that he allowed himself to think about food, his stomach began protesting the lack. He was also anxious to see Carrie. She hadn’t felt well Friday night so skipped the gathering at the Javalina. The last time they spent any time together was Wednesday night. Their work schedules played hell with their social calendar. Matt’s weekends were his busiest time, while Carrie Maitland was a loan officer at a local finance company with weekends off. Matt usually managed to take a couple days off during the week as his “weekend,” but of course Carrie was working then. In the five months they’d been seeing each other, they had managed to eke out enough time together to be comfortable and to realize there was something there worth continuing.
As promised, she was waiting at a table just inside the door. Slender and athletic, her head capped with dark, curly hair, she looked younger than her twenty-seven years. Dressed in shorts and a breezy camp shirt, she could have been just another college student lazing away the summer. Matt strode to her and leaned down to kiss her warmly. The scent of her brought back memories of Wednesday night.
“Mmm,” she said when he seemed reluctant to pull away from her. “Absence must make the heart grow fonder.”
Matt smiled guiltily and took his place across the table from her. “We did miss you at the cantina last night,” he admitted. “Glad you’re feeling better today.”
“Yeah, my stomach was just a little upset, but it didn’t last. I think I must be fighting off some bug. Not a big deal, but I’m sure beer would not have helped.” She smiled.
Matt was struck again by how her smile seemed to brighten an otherwise drab day. She had a peacefulness about her, a serenity, that captivated him. He reached across the table and took her hand. “I could come over tonight and cook you some chicken soup,” he offered.
She tilted her head at him. “I do believe you would,” she said quietly.
The waitress interrupted them for their order, jotted it down and then just as quickly retreated. Both Matt and Carrie sat back in their chairs, the fragile moment set aside.
“Is there anything you’d like to do tonight?” Matt asked. Although their schedules were mismatched, Saturday night seemed to be the one stretch of time they could count on. Whether they went out or stayed in at either his place or hers, he couldn’t remember the last Saturday night he’d spent without her.
“I was thinking we could barbeque,” she offered. “I picked up some steaks this morning, and corn on the cob. I could do a salad. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect,” he sighed. He could already feel himself decompressing.
“Busy day?” she asked.
“Typical,” he admitted. “Ass over tea kettle all morning, then it slows down.”
“I still think you should hire an extra body during the summer,” she said. “It would certainly ease some of the strain.”
“It would,” Matt agreed, “but I’d hate like hell to lay someone off in the winter when things slow down. Granted, they don’t slow down much, but enough so that Susie, Simon and I can handle it without a problem.”
“You could hire a student,” she suggested. “There are plenty of river bums here that could use a paycheck.”
“Probably,” he allowed, “but no telling what their work ethic would be like. You know me.”
She laughed. “Yes, I do, Mr. Integrity.” At his sheepish look, she leaned closer and added, “Don’t worry; that’s a trait I find highly admirable.”
When they’d first started dating she had thought Matt was driven and ambitious, a combination she was not sure she could meld with. It took her some months to realize that he was in fact driven, but ambition was not the driver. Matt’s business acumen and sense of fair play had led him to build a highly successful business, one he could easily expand, perhaps even taking over some of the other sports shops in the city, but that sort of expand-and-conquer mentality was not part of his make-up. She realized he was driven less by greed or power and more by his own sense of perfectionism. Whether he was a small business owner, CEO of a global corporation or a dogcatcher, he simply believed in doing a job, doing it to the best of his ability and doing it fairly.
“You’re just not used to it,” he chided.
“That’s the truth. My ex-husband wouldn’t even be able to spell integrity, much less model it.” Her ex had been fun-loving, impulsive and a gambling addict. Their marriage had lasted less than a year. She was lucky to get out of it before he completely drained her savings account.
“Well, it has its down side, too,” Matt admitted. “I know some people think I’m tight-assed, a workaholic.” He shrugged. “Maybe I am.”
The waitress laid their sandwich plates in front of them. Matt immediately reached for the ketchup for his fries. Carrie pulled half the lettuce out of her sandwich to get it down to a manageable size.
“Maybe you are,” she said slowly, “but I never have to wonder if you’re telling me the truth or not.”
Matt looked up, expecting to see her clear gray eyes on him, but she kept her head down. He understood how meaningful that casually spoken sentence was to her. He reached across and captured one of her hands, forcing her to look at him.
“And you never will,” he added.
She nodded. “I know that.”
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Burning Through
A Novel Idea Page 7
