He searched her face. In the deepening shadows it was impossible to read her eyes. “Are you certain of that?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It was just gossip. I got it from Dylan Fenn and Stewart Lutton, the two shop owners I mentioned earlier.”
“Did they say why Bell didn’t want Joanna to marry Dad?”
Alexa hesitated. “Apparently Webster was afraid that your father would have siphoned off a substantial portion of Joanna’s inheritance in order to build his new resort.”
His jaw tightened. “I can’t blame Bell for worrying about that possibility. In Dad’s defense, all I can say is that he wouldn’t have seen it as using Joanna’s money. He would have called it an investment.”
“Yes, well, I guess Webster considered your father a financial risk.”
Trask swallowed more beer. “He was right.”
There was another short silence from Alexa.
“I got one other bit of old gossip out of my pals today,” she said eventually.
“You’re a regular gold mine of information this evening, aren’t you?”
“I’m rationalizing it by telling myself that it’s in my own best interests to help you get your questions answered as quickly as possible.”
“Meaning that the sooner I’m satisfied about what happened here twelve years ago, the sooner I’ll be gone?”
She looked at him, but there were too many shadows on the patio now for him to read her expression.
“The other tidbit I picked up,” she said very steadily, “is that, although Webster Bell may have opposed the marriage because he wanted to protect Joanna, there is another possibility.”
“I’m listening.”
Alexa took an audible breath and released it slowly. “Bell apparently needed Joanna’s money to help finance the expansion of his retreat. Joanna was one of his cornerstones, financially speaking.”
Trask was surprised at the jolt her words gave him. Damn. How could he have overlooked such an obvious possibility as Webster Bell?
He let the implications sink in for a long moment. They were not very palatable. Surely he hadn’t been looking in the wrong direction all these years. But then, that was the problem with an obsession. It tended to blind you to other possibilities.
He searched swiftly for more angles.
“What’s your strategy here, Alexa? Are you trying to point me toward Bell in the hopes that I’ll forget about Guthrie and Kenyon?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” She turned her back on him and started toward the kitchen. “Have you always been this suspicious, Trask? Or is it a bad habit you’ve developed?”
“I was born this way.”
“I see. Well, that’s as good an argument for genetic engineering as I’ve heard to date.”
Alexa was right about the food, Trask thought. Southwestern fusion cuisine looked a lot like Pacific Rim fusion cuisine with the addition of tortillas and chilies. He could get used to it.
They ate out on the patio. Moonlight poured down, mingling with the flickering lights of the candles on the table. The sky was a dark, cobalt blue bowl studded with diamonds. The air was a warm caress.
Hard to imagine a more romantic setting, Trask thought. Too bad he’d screwed up earlier. Conversation had not been going well since he’d practically accused Alexa of trying to deflect his investigation.
He wondered if Alexa planned to kick him out the door immediately after dinner, or if she would offer him tea first.
He also wondered how she would react if he kissed her again. He was not particularly optimistic. Although she had not specifically brought up the subject of their encounter in the spa, he was getting the strong impression that she considered last night’s lovemaking a serious mistake.
The screen door opened again. Alexa walked out of the kitchen with a pot in her hand.
Hope soared. It looked like he was going to get tea at least.
She sat down and poured the brew into two cups. “What will you do now that you’ve stirred your cauldron?”
“Sit back and let things boil for a while.”
Her head came up swiftly. “Are you going to just ignore the information I gave you about Bell?”
“No. I’ll call Okuda in the morning—”
“Okuda?”
“Phil Okuda is the investigator I hired to do the initial background work on this thing. I’ll tell him to check out the situation at the Institute twelve years ago. But my money’s on Guthrie at the moment.”
She raised her brows in disbelief as she took her seat. “Just because of that little incident in the parking lot last night?”
“Little incident?”
“Granted, Guthrie went a bit over the top with the two goons. But you’ve got to admit, he’s got a right to be annoyed. How would you feel if someone started digging around in your past, trying to find evidence that you’d committed murder?”
“He’s rattled. I have a hunch that if I apply a little more pressure, he’ll crumble.”
“I don’t think you’re approaching this situation the right way.”
“So now you’re an expert?”
“I’ve lived in this town longer than you have. I understand how—”
A distant, muffled whoomp interrupted her.
They both turned to look out across the desert toward Cliff Drive.
A cold foreboding swept through Trask. He shoved his chair back. “That came from the road. Sounded like a car. I’ll go take a look.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He got to the edge of the patio before he saw the glow of orange flames in the distance. “Better call 911 first. And bring a flashlight, if you’ve got one handy.”
He vaulted the low rock wall and headed toward the fire.
She followed hard on his heels a moment later. He realized she had grabbed her cell phone.
“No, I don’t know exactly what the problem is,” she said urgently into the phone. “But there are flames. A car, I think.”
Trask turned and stretched out his hand. Alexa slapped a flashlight into it. He switched it on and aimed it at the ground to light their path.
The red glow in the distance burned brighter now.
“My God,” Alexa whispered. “That’s the Point.”
Trask reached the embankment above Cliff Drive and dropped to the pavement. Alexa clattered down behind him. A small shower of pebbles and loose sand cascaded onto the road.
Somewhere in the distance a siren began to wail.
They crossed the road and started toward Avalon Point. Flames flared from the rocks below.
“Stay back.” Trask went through the gaping hole in the shattered guard rail. “There could be an explosion.”
“Trask, come back. It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do.”
He stood at the edge of the Point and looked down into the mouth of hell. She was right.
A disorienting sensation swept over him.
For an instant past and present fused in a nightmarish glare.
This was how his father had died. This was where his father had died.
But it was not his father’s car that lay on the rocks below Avalon Point tonight. The roaring flames provided more than enough light for Trask to see the remains of a familiar white Lincoln.
Dean Guthrie.
17
Alexa was staring at the ceiling of her bedroom when the phone rang hours later. She reached for the receiver, hoping that Trask would be on the other end.
“Hello?”
“The dark vortices are in flux. The energy storm grows more powerful and more dangerous with each passing moment. Death and destruction have come to Avalon. Seek cover while you still can.”
“Screw you.” Alexa slammed down the phone.
She went back to contemplating the shadows above the bed. She knew she would not sleep tonight. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the fire and the white Lincoln.
The night was warm but she shivered beneath
the covers.
The nightmare came an hour before dawn. Searing flames and twisted metal were prominently featured.
The truly horrifying part was the vision of Guthrie staring calmly at him through the blackening glass of the driver’s window.
Trask awoke, cold and clammy. For a moment he could not remember where he was. He could not even recall the year.
Then he realized that the phone beside the bed was ringing. He reached for it, profoundly grateful to whoever had interrupted the dream.
The image of Guthrie’s face was a figment of his imagination, he told himself. The fire had been too intense to make out anything or anyone inside the burning vehicle.
Later, when the medics had removed the body, he and Alexa had mercifully been occupied giving their statements to Chief Strood.
“This is Trask.”
“I called to see if you were getting any sleep,” Alexa said.
The dream fragments disintegrated at the sound of her voice. “Not much.” He shoved aside the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “What about you?”
“My semi-obscene caller struck again.”
“Bastard.” Trask was quiet for a moment. “What did he say?”
“Something about an energy storm and dark vortices in flux.” She paused. “Death and destruction were mentioned. I got the impression he knew about what happened at the Point tonight.”
“By this time, half the town probably knows about Guthrie’s crash.”
“I imagine so.” She paused. “One of the medics told me Guthrie probably died instantly. At the very least, he would have been unconscious when the fire broke out.”
It was, Trask reflected, the same rough comfort the authorities had offered him after Harry’s crash at Avalon Point. Something in Alexa’s voice told him that a long time ago someone had given her similar assurances about her own father’s death.
He listened to the silence on the line. They both knew the truth, he thought. No one could be certain how long either of the victims had lived after disaster struck. No one knew how much awareness the men had had of their terrifying last moments.
But Trask also knew that, for the sake of those who were left behind, it was important to preserve the fiction that neither had suffered for long.
“I’m sure the medic was right,” Alexa said. “The impact must have killed Guthrie instantly.”
“Yeah.”
Silence hummed again on the line.
Trask looked at the faint glow in the sky. “Maybe you should stay home from work today. Get some rest.”
“I’ve got a shop to run. Besides, I think it would be better if I kept myself busy.”
“Sure.” He understood all too well that work was a useful narcotic for dulling unpleasant memories. He’d used it to take the edge off a lot of things, including a failing marriage.
She hesitated. “What are you going to do today?”
“Me? I’ll be busy, too. Didn’t I tell you? I’ve got another hot date with Chief Strood.”
“You’re going to talk to him again? Why? We told him everything that we saw last night.”
“Seems he wants to revisit the subject of my little parking lot altercation with Guthrie.”
“Oh, no. Surely he doesn’t think that you—?”
The alarmed concern in her voice warmed him for some obscure reason.
“Strood just wants to clear up a few questions,” he said. “Can’t blame him. He’s got a job to do.”
“Do you think he might try to involve you in this in some way? Why? Strood wasn’t even the chief of police here in Avalon twelve years ago. He didn’t take the job until after Wilcox died. That was only about five years back.”
“Strood has heard the rumors, same as everyone else in town.”
“I can call Lloyd’s lawyer if you think you should have one.”
“Don’t worry, Avalon Resorts, Inc., has a herd of lawyers on retainer.” Trask smiled slightly. “If I need one, I know where to get one.”
“There is absolutely no way anyone can connect you with Guthrie’s accident. Remind Strood that you were with me when it happened.”
“Yeah.” Trask smiled to himself. “I’ll do that.”
The cloud of morbid curiosity was thick in Café Solstice. Every eye in the place shifted toward Alexa when she walked through the door shortly before ten.
She came to a halt and gazed around at the ring of familiar faces. “I take it everyone has already heard the news?”
Murmurs of assent went through the small crowd of shopkeepers huddled over their tea and muffins.
Dylan, propped against a counter, looked at Alexa with a troubled expression. “Is it true that you and Trask were first on the scene?”
Alexa shuddered. “Yes. It was awful.”
Joanna gazed down into her tea. “Poor Guthrie.”
Brad Vasquez, the owner of the Out Of Body Experience travel agency, shook his head. “The courts should have yanked Guthrie’s license years ago. Everyone knew he had a serious drinking problem.”
“He nearly sideswiped me once on that sharp curve on Bandit Road,” Stewart said as he poured boiling water into a pot. “A couple inches closer and he would’ve hit me. I called him up later and told him that he could have gotten both of us killed.”
Alexa went to the counter to collect her tea. “What did he say?”
Stewart shrugged. “He got mad. Yelled and screamed a lot. Claimed he’d been in complete control.”
“I wonder how his ex-wife is taking the news,” Brad mused.
Stewart looked up. “Which one? There were at least three at last count.”
Joanna raised her bowed hed. Her face was tight and bleak. “Liz is having a tough time. I talked to her this morning. She and Dean were still seeing each other, you know, even though the divorce was final a few months ago.”
Brad raised his brows. “Guthrie was sleeping with his ex-wife?”
Joanna’s mouth tightened primly. “They had a relationship, yes.”
Alexa glanced at her. “How do you know that?”
“Liz is a good friend of mine,” Joanna said quietly. “I’ve carried her jewelry designs in Crystal Rainbow for years. She’s active out at the Institute. We’ve served on several committees together.”
Dylan screwed his features into a quizzical expression. “Why’d she marry a mean drunk like Guthrie?”
“The usual reason.” Joanna returned her attention to her tea. “She thought that she could change him.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” someone muttered.
Stewart’s gaze was somber. “When you stop and think about it, you gotta admit, there’s something really weird about Guthrie’s death. I mean, what are the odds?”
A short, charged silence fell on the small group. Alexa noticed that no one met her eyes.
“Odds about what, Stewart?” she asked quietly.
Dylan stirred against the counter. His gaze flickered to Stewart and the others. Then he looked at Alexa. “He means the odds that Guthrie would die now. Like Brad says, he drove drunk for years. By rights he should have run himself off that cliff a long time ago.”
Alexa watched him very steadily. “What are you saying, Dylan?”
It was Joanna who answered the question.
“He’s saying what everyone else who knew Guthrie in the old days is saying this morning. It’s a very strange coincidence that Guthrie died only a few days after Trask returned to Avalon.”
“And even weirder that he was killed at the same place where Harry Trask died,” Dylan whispered.
Alexa’s temper flared without warning. “If you’re implying that Trask had anything to do with Guthrie’s accident, you can forget it. Trask was with me when Guthrie drove off Avalon Point. There is no way he could have been involved.”
“Take it easy, Alexa,” Stewart said. “No one is saying that Trask killed Dean Guthrie.”
“Hell, no,” Brad said quickly. “No one’s cla
iming that Guthrie’s death wasn’t an accident. It’s just, well, strange, that’s all. The timing, I mean.”
“And the place where it happened,” Stewart added softly. “Avalon Point. The very same place Harry Trask—”
“Don’t say it,” Alexa warned.
Stewart raised one big tattooed shoulder in a massive shrug, but he did not finish the sentence.
Dylan’s gaze slid away from Alexa’s. “According to the theory of Dimensions, there are no coincidences in the universe.”
Alexa realized her hand was trembling from the effort it took to control her fury. Very deliberately she set her cup down before it slipped from her grasp. She looked at each member of the small group in turn.
“Contrary to popular opinion,” she said, “Trask had no reason to want Dean Guthrie dead. I don’t think it’s any secret that he has some questions about what happened to his father twelve years ago, but he won’t make any moves until he has answers.”
“Maybe it was the pressure,” Brad mused. “Maybe it pushed Guthrie over the edge in more ways than one.”
“What pressure?” Alexa snapped.
“The pressure Guthrie must have felt.” Brad gave her an apologetic look. “The way I heard it, Trask’s return to Avalon had really agitated him. There was that scene in the country club parking lot the other night…”
“It was Guthrie who threatened Trask, not vice versa,” Alexa said tightly. “Furthermore—”
Joanna gave a short, muffled cry. Her plastic cup fell to the floor. Hot tea splashed across Alexa’s sandal-shod feet. She stepped back hastily.
“I was so afraid something like this would happen,” Joanna whispered in a choked voice.
Her low, anguished words riveted everyone’s attention. Alexa turned toward her and saw that tears glistened in her dark eyes. Instinctively she took a step forward and put out a hand.
“Joanna?”
“I’m sorry.” Joanna evaded Alexa’s outstretched hand. “It’s late. I’ve got to open my shop.” She seized a tissue from her purse, buried her face in it, and rushed out the door.
Alexa felt the eyes of everyone in the shop turn to her.
“Joanna’s right,” she said. “It’s getting late.”