Lost and Found

  Ahead of her, Arden was only a shadow moving quickly toward the marina gate. She followed more slowly and came to a halt near the wall of a darkened building. As she watched, he opened the marina gate and went through it. He disappeared among the dozens of boats moored in the shadows.

  The large grid of floating platforms was poorly illuminated. Most of the boats were also dark.

  She waited for a moment, wondering if Arden would reappear. But nothing happened. The sense of swiftly approaching disaster grew stronger, however. She was tingling from head to toe.

  She reached beneath her cloak, pulled out her cell phone and punched in Mack’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. What with the voices, music and general din around him, she could barely hear his greeting.

  “Easton here.”

  “Mack, it’s me. You won’t believe this, but I think I just spotted Jonathan Arden—”

  “Where are you?” he cut in swiftly.

  “Near the—”

  The figure came up behind her so swiftly she never had a chance to turn around. The phone was yanked out of her hand before she could finish the sentence. A gloved finger hit the disconnect. Simultaneously she felt cold metal pressed against the back of her neck.

  She could not see the object but every nerve ending she possessed recognized the barrel of a gun.

  “I knew that you were going to cause me trouble before this was finished,” Stanford Felgrove said, much too pleasantly. “Annoying little bitch. You know, you remind me of your aunt.”

  “Are you out of your mind, Stanford? What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Keeping an appointment. Let’s go.”

  He planted a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her forward. At least the gun no longer touched her skin, she thought.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Through the gate. Someone is waiting for us on my boat.”

  She was scared but not as scared as she should be, she thought vaguely. What was wrong with her? She ought to be in full-blown panic mode. The man was holding a gun on her, after all.

  But this was Stanford Felgrove. She had known him since she was a teen. It was hard to believe that he would pull the trigger.

  Or maybe she was simply in a fugue state, dazed with the horror of it all. Perhaps her mind had disconnected, just like a cell phone.

  With Stanford behind her, she went through the marina gate. The long sweep of her costume cloak caught on a wooden post. She stumbled and jerked the garment to free it.

  Ahead, the array of boats loomed in the shadows. She could hear the soft, hungry murmur of the water lapping at the docks. She glanced down between the slats and saw only impenetrable darkness.

  For some obscure reason, that was when the real fear kicked in. She froze in midstride, fighting to breathe.

  “Keep moving.” Stanford shoved her forward again. “You know which boat is mine.”

  If she did not get control of her nerves, she would have no chance at all. You can move through the panic. You’ve done it before. You know how to do this.

  She focused on her breathing and felt it grow more even. Old habits took hold in a crisis, apparently. All those years of regular yoga exercise had not been wasted, she thought. Who said obsession was a bad thing?

  She concentrated on walking deeper into the maze. Felgrove’s large white-hulled cruiser was moored at the far end of the marina.

  “What is this all about, Stanford?”

  “It’s about salvaging what I can from this mess,” Stanford said, still speaking in that unnaturally pleasant voice. “You and that bastard Easton have caused me nothing but trouble. I was so close. So damned close.”

  “And then my aunt got suspicious.”

  “Arden described an elderly woman who had called for an appointment and I knew right off that it was Vesta Briggs. I don’t know how she figured out what was going on, but when the old bitch postponed the vote on the merger proposal, I realized we had a problem.”

  The docks were much darker here on the far side of the marina where the larger boats were moored. The low-level illumination was further reduced by massive shadows cast by the looming hulls of bigger vessels.

  At the edge of the floating platforms the black waters slapped and slithered and whispered of endless night. Stanford’s big cruiser was only a few feet away now.

  “Did you kill—”

  Cady never finished the question. The explosion of the first round of fireworks interrupted her. Flashes of light sparkled in the night sky above the marina. She sensed Stanford’s flinch, heard his muttered oath and realized that he was as wired as she was.

  Another boom echoed as the second stage of the fireworks lit up the sky.

  “Move.” Stanford gave her another urgent push toward the big boat at the end of the dock. “We don’t want to keep Arden waiting.”

  “What is going on here?”

  “Arden arranged this meeting. The s.o.b. thinks he can blackmail me. The note I got implied that he would take a payoff to remain silent about my connection to the frauds. But I have other plans. I’ve worked too hard, too long to lose everything to a small-time, double-crossing con man.”

  Reality descended with a horrifying rush. “You’re going to kill Arden, aren’t you?”

  “He hasn’t left me much choice. Bastard will bleed me dry if I let him do it. That’s the way it works. The leeches never let go.”

  She gripped the edges of her cloak. “What about me?”

  “I’m afraid that you have only yourself to blame for what is going to happen tonight, you stupid bitch. You should have stayed out of this.”

  He was going to kill her, too.

  “You think you can get away with murder?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow morning the papers will report that you and Arden were killed by an unknown assailant at the height of the Carnival Night activities,” Stanford said. “There will probably be some nasty speculation about just what you and a known con artist were doing down here alone on the docks at this hour but I’m afraid that can’t be helped.”

  She had to do something, anything. There was nothing left to lose.

  Another burst of fireworks erupted across the night sky. Simultaneously, a cloaked figure appeared at the bow of the white cruiser. The dying lights glinted on a silver mask.

  “There’s been a change of plan, Arden,” Stanford said.

  She realized that he had shifted the gun away from her and was pointing it at the masked figure on the boat. More fireworks crashed overhead. Lights flashed and sparkled above the dark mirror of the water. The explosions reverberated. Behind her, Stanford tensed. She knew he planned to use the noise of the fireworks as cover for the shot.

  Still gripping the edges of the cloak, she threw her arms wide and spun to the side. The heavy garment flared out, briefly entangling Stanford’s gun arm.

  “Bitch.”

  His enraged shout was cut short by the thunder of fireworks. The roar sounded closer this time but she paid no attention. She was too busy diving for the only safety—the water.

  Stanford stumbled, lost his balance and slammed into her just as she went over the edge of the dock.

  Strange. He was an athletic man. She would have thought he would have been steadier on his feet.

  She hit the cold water with a jarring thud. The initial rush of panic was nothing compared to the stunning shock of finding herself ensnared in the heavy cloak.

  The thick folds of the costume absorbed water swiftly. The garment was suddenly a massive weight dragging her downward. To make matters worse, Stanford tumbled into the water on top of her.

  What was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he struggling, just as she was, to get free and get back to the surface? She kicked out wildly. Her foot struck solid flesh and bone, but Felgrove did not push back. He was caught in the folds of her waterlogged costume, but he did not seem to care.

  Then she felt the brush of a lifeless hand against her a
nkle. Old nightmares were suddenly made real. She opened her mouth to scream and got a mouthful of cold salt water.

  She understood then that the last explosion she had heard had not been fireworks. It had been a gun. Arden had shot Stanford.

  Felgrove was a dead weight dragging her down into the depths.

  Twenty-six

  Once you’ve learned to recognize panic, you can move through it.

  Vesta’s words of advice coalesced at the heart of the whirlwind of fear unleashed inside her. Cady opened her eyes underwater, trying frantically to orient herself. Light flashed above the surface. More fireworks. Well, at least she knew which way was up. That was a start.

  If only she could breathe.

  The next task was to free herself from the cloak. She found the snaps at her neck and yanked desperately. The fastenings parted. She felt her arms come free of the garment. The lethal fabric fell away into the darkness like some giant manta ray seeking other prey.

  Relief swept aside some of the panic, enabling her to focus more intently. Her lungs were burning but the cloak no longer bound her. Somewhere along the line, her feet had come out of her loafers. All that was left were the leggings and the dark T-shirt she had worn under the costume. She was cold but she could kick and she could claw her way back to the surface. It wasn’t that far.

  Swim toward the bright lights.

  She could do this. She had to do it.

  She kicked out again and struck Stanford’s body a second time. Once more the fear threatened to paralyze her. Move through it.

  She whipped around frantically, desperately trying to put as much distance as possible between the corpse and herself. She bumped up against the keel of a boat. Another jolt of panic seared her nerve endings.

  And then she was at the surface, sucking in fresh air, gasping, filling her lungs with the stuff. Not so loud, what if he’s still here? He’ll hear you. Fireworks burst overhead. Tears blurred her vision. Or maybe that was salt water. She couldn’t be certain.

  Movement on the docks got her immediate attention. From the shelter of the hull, she watched in fresh horror as a black cloak swirled in the darkness. The silver mask glinted briefly and then turned away.

  Arden was still here. He was prowling the floating platforms, gun in hand. She realized that he was looking for his victims. Probably knew he had only hit Stanford, she thought. He wanted to finish her off, too.

  But he was searching in the vicinity of where he had seen her and Stanford tumble into the water. She knew then that the only thing that had saved her was the frantic underwater struggle to free herself from the cloak and get away from Felgrove’s body. It had resulted in her surfacing some distance from her entry point. The thunder of the fireworks display had concealed her first desperate gasps of air.

  Now the boat hull shielded her, and her breathing was not quite so loud. She could only give thanks that Arden did not have a flashlight.

  She treaded water in the shadow of the boat, trying not to think about the body that was floating somewhere nearby. She had no choice but to swim toward the marina entrance and pray that Arden would not realize she had escaped him until she was on dry land.

  She waited until the masked figure moved to the far end of a long dock. Then she took a deep breath and eased away from the shelter of the boat hull.

  At that moment a small group of laughing people appeared at the marina gate. Their voices floated out over the water. Someone said something about a party on board one of the boats.

  Yes, please, please, please. Come out onto the docks to party. I’ll buy the beer.

  One member of the group reminded his companions that the marina was closed for the evening.

  Damn. There was always a spoilsport in every crowd.

  But the little group was having an effect. At the far end of the dock, Arden froze when he heard the voices. Then he whirled around and started swiftly back toward the gate, his cloak flapping angrily around him. He had apparently concluded that he could not risk hanging around to finish off his second victim of the evening.

  She waited as long as she could stand it. When Arden vanished through the marina gate, she hauled herself out of the water and flopped, exhausted, onto one of the floating platforms. She closed her eyes, trying to recover enough energy to get to her feet.

  So cold.

  She heard the group of would-be partygoers coming toward her, felt their footsteps vibrating on the wooden planks. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly.

  Someone screamed.

  Another member of the group shouted something unintelligible but unmistakably near hysteria.

  “Call 911. Call the cops. Call someone.”

  Her first thought was that she had inspired the shriek. The reaction was a little over the top, she thought. All right, so her hair was streaming around her face and her T-shirt and leggings clung to her. She didn’t look that bad.

  She pulled herself to her feet and started toward the group.

  Then she realized that no one was staring at her. When she joined them, she saw why they were ignoring her.

  They were all too busy freaking out at the sight of Stanford Felgrove’s body. It floated close to the surface, where it had become ensnared in a mooring line.

  Someone finally turned around and noticed Cady.

  Another scream sliced through the night. Cady winced and covered her ears. Maybe she did look that bad.

  “Could I please borrow someone’s costume?” With an effort, she managed to keep her voice very polite. “I’m cold.”

  “I think I may be having an anxiety attack,” Mack said in a quietly savage voice. He stopped in front of the French doors and stared out into the night. “I can’t believe you followed Arden out onto the docks.”

  “I didn’t follow him,” Cady said wearily. “It happened just like I told the police. I stopped near the marina office and tried to call you. That’s when Stanford Felgrove came up behind me with a gun.”

  “Damn it to hell.” He clenched one hand into a fist and braced it against the nearest door. “You shouldn’t have followed him in the first place.”

  Randall spoke up behind him. “Take it easy, Mack. She’s been through an ordeal.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said loyally. “This is no time to chew her out.”

  “Sylvia’s right,” Gardner added. “I know where you’re coming from here, Mack, but Cady’s had a rough evening. Maybe you’d better save the lectures until tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” Leandra said firmly. “Can it, Easton. Cady’s had enough to deal with tonight.”

  They were right, Mack thought. The last thing he wanted to do was yell at Cady. But it seemed to be the only thing he was good at right now.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  There was a short, startled silence.

  Cady started to giggle.

  Mack swung around and glowered at her. She was curled up in the largest of the wingback chairs, wrapped in a fuzzy throw that Sylvia had found in one of the closets. She had showered and changed clothes hours ago before the interview with the police, but she still complained of a chill.

  As he watched, her giggles became laughter. But it didn’t sound right. There was a disturbing edge to it. Sylvia, Gardner, Leandra and Randall must have noticed the strange tone, too. All of them were gazing at her with worried expressions.

  “Are you okay?” Sylvia asked.

  “Yes.” But the odd, high laughter continued. Cady huddled into herself and buried her face against the fuzzy blanket. Her shoulders shook. The sounds she was making changed to another note.

  Randall scowled at Mack. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  “Hell, she’s crying.” Mack started toward her.

  “Sorry,” Cady gasped into the blanket. “Can’t stop.”

  Leandra sat up swiftly. “It’s okay, Cady. I’ve read that it’s good to have a cathartic emotional release after a traumatic incident. Gets rid of a lot of the physical side effects of stress.”

&nb
sp; Cady sobbed harder.

  Mack crossed the room in three long strides and plucked her up out of the chair. He sat down and cradled her fiercely against his chest. She turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed.

  No one said a word until it was over. Gardner got to his feet and went to the liquor cabinet. He opened the door and removed a bottle. Mack could see the label from where he was sitting with Cady locked in his arms. It was a very old and very expensive brand of whiskey.

  Eventually the tears eased. After a while Cady raised her head, blinking away the last of the moisture. Mack felt her relax against him.

  “Sorry about that. I think I’m okay now.”

  “Delayed reaction,” Sylvia said gently. “You couldn’t afford to panic earlier so you held on. Your nerves finally got even.”

  Gardner handed Cady a small glass of whiskey. “Here. Vesta’s cure for the common cold and everything else.”

  “Thanks.” She sipped cautiously and looked at Mack over the rim of the glass. Was he going to start yelling at her again, she wondered.

  “I’ll finish the lecture some other time,” he said. “Like tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” She took another sip of the whiskey.

  She sounded much better, he thought. She looked weary but she no longer seemed so edgy.

  Gardner propped one hip on the arm of the sofa on which Sylvia sat. “I didn’t get to hear the details you gave the cops, Cady, but I got the impression that Arden and Felgrove had arranged to meet at the marina tonight?”

  She nodded. “Stanford said Arden had summoned him there to talk about a blackmail payoff.”

  “How on earth did you spot Arden?” Sylvia asked.

  “I had a good view of the crowds from where I was standing at the back of the stage. I noticed him when he went past on his way to the marina. I recognized the mask and the costume he’d ordered for Carnival Night because I’d seen them the day they were delivered to him.”

  “Stanford went to the docks intending to kill Arden?” Gardner asked.