Dark to Mortal Eyes

  Beau ventured back into the Corvallis library. The day had been as long and boring as those days in Mr. Rathburn’s geometry class. Gotta stay cool, he told himself. He’d go in, check his e-mail again, and stroll back through the doors without a flicker of concern. What could they do to him—kick him out? His taxes paid for this place.

  Okay, not his taxes. His dad’s maybe.

  At ICV meetings, Mr. Steele had instructed them on how to avoid leaving a paper trail. As an unlicensed contractor, Beau’d taken cash and never filed any forms. Government or otherwise.

  Preoccupied, Beau nearly collided with an assistant librarian as he entered the computer work-station area. She was reshelving books. Cute. For a bookworm.

  He pivoted like a revolving door. “Outta the lady’s way. Pardon meee.”

  She made a point of ignoring his display, and a thought ripped through his head.

  I could hit her. Smash her right in the face the way I did that Kara lady.

  After tapping in his password, he found the e-mail he’d been waiting on. He checked the computer’s toolbar clock. Couple more hours, then he’d send those bumbling cops into a tizzy. Would his sacrifice put a stop to the pain tearing through his temples? Sure it would. The claws were there to keep him on task, that was all.

  Tunka-hssssss!

  Turney took a step back from the car. Josee could see him in his boxing days, toned and not so heavy, crouched and dodging blows. She imagined those hefty arms counterpunching, delivering thunderous blows to an opponent’s body and chin.

  The sergeant winced.

  “What?” Josee jumped through her door. “Something happen?”

  “It’s … nothing. I’m all right.” Even as he spoke, he rocked back another step, clutching at his upper arm where the gauze was unraveling from the fang marks. Dripping. Dripppp, dripppp … His teeth were clenched. He was waving his fist.

  “What can I do, Sarge?” His struggle was her own. “Let’s just ditch this car.”

  “No.” Turney batted away a ring of flies.

  “Can’t you call for a replacement or something? Let’s not even mess with it.”

  “No! No, Josee, that’s all we’ve been doing, playin’ right into our enemy’s hands. The intimidation factor. Not this time, no sir. Ugggh!” He shook off the pain. “No, I’m sick o’ livin’ with guilt and fear ruling my every move. Ugh. Time for … ughhh … time for Thunder Turney to climb back into the ring.”

  Josee would’ve cheered.

  If she hadn’t been so scared and worried that she might pee in her pants.

  Kara Addison felt the warmth spread down her legs. She hadn’t relieved herself since last evening in a bucket in the cellar’s corner. The darkness had guarded her from her captor’s stare. Now, he had been gone for hours, and she was alone with the spiders and dust and no answers. She almost wished for his return.

  God, this is not what I had in mind. I thought I was going to see my daughter.

  She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that. She didn’t trust the words that might spill out in anguish. Her emotions dipped and rebounded. Dipped further.

  I’m sitting here in my own waste! Is this your plan, Lord? I don’t understand.

  The smell of the urine pricked her nostrils. She felt so degraded.

  At least the item in her front pocket was safe from the flow, tucked against her outer thigh. A pink knit cap. Provided by Good Samaritan for their newborns, this was Josee’s original baby cap. Marsh didn’t even know about this; it was Kara’s secret. Her one link. She had hoped to extend it to her daughter as an offering of peace. Atonement. Evidence of Kara’s long-term attachment to what might’ve been.

  After all these years? God, I’m not strong. I can’t keep up the facade.

  She sobbed into her gag, letting the salt of her tears spill onto her legs and blend with the acidity of her shame.

  20

  Fianchetto

  Marsh waved off his attorney’s protests and gave his American Express card to the Ramada front desk staff. He’d also paid at Barkley’s. Though Casey Wilcox tried to convince him that her firm could write it off, he insisted. Why not start an electronic trail? For years he had battled Steele Knight online. He had seen his opponent use every measure available to win and suspected that even now he was under surveillance. If Steele Knight had any intention of tracking his movements, then Marsh would counteract with strategies of his own.

  Kara, wherever you are, I’m working on this. You’re not alone.

  He’d also utilized another tactic. Before dark he expected a return call in which Steele Knight would provide an answer to Marsh’s test question: You ask Kara where she and I are planning to go this weekend. A romantic getaway, just the two of us.

  There was no getaway. Kara knew this. Marsh had business in Paris, but he hoped Kara would catch on and provide a clue, anything to hint at her location.

  “Marshall?” Casey was tapping on the counter. “You’re all set for the evening.”

  “Good. Okay. Oh, hold on, I was hoping for one last favor, Casey.”

  “Last one?” She arched an eyebrow. “Better make it good, mon cher.”

  “Swing me by Enterprise Rent-A-Car. I need wheels of my own for tonight.”

  “Now there’s a plan. I’m done running Wilcox’s pro bono taxi service.”

  With suite key secured, he joined her in her luxury sedan. Overhead, blackbirds circled against swollen clouds. The meteorologists had forecast a storm, and even in a place as unpredictable as the Willamette Valley, it seemed a sure bet. For once, the weather psychics may be right. What about Kara though? Marsh stiffened at the thought. He hoped she was under a roof at least.

  “Mind turning the music down?” he said.

  “You want me to turn Kenny Wayne Shepherd down?”

  “For crying out loud, I can’t hear myself think.”

  “Your call. You’re the client.” Casey acted nonplussed. She merged into traffic. “But once I’m off the clock, Kenny’s staging a comeback.”

  “That’s one thing I like about you, Casey. You’re never off the clock.”

  “Been known to make exceptions.”

  Marsh ignored her right hand now resting on his side of the dash. In the side-view mirror, he spotted an old mid-size Chevy. Was it tailing them?

  “Marshall, why do I get the sense you’re not telling me everything?” Polished fingernails lifted from the steering wheel, implying that Casey washed her hands of incriminating knowledge. “I’m your legal fire wall, your corporate shield. It’s my duty to defend you, regardless of any misgivings I may have personally. But that’s just it. On the personal level I like you, I admire you. Tell me I haven’t misjudged you.”

  “You want me to find another attorney? There are cheaper ones out there.”

  “Well, excusez-moi. You get what you pay for.”

  “I didn’t hurt my wife. There, is that what you’re after?” Marsh added, “But I think I know who did.”

  “Then for mercy’s sake, tell it to the police. Confide in me, if nothing else.”

  “After tonight I should be cleared.”

  “And on what basis do you say that?”

  A pawn sacrifice … news at eleven. Good news or bad, if Steele Knight’s words panned out, it would give Marsh a focus for his energies, a tableau on which to calculate his moves. “I’m done talking about it,” he told Casey. “We’ll wait and see.”

  “We don’t have much—”

  “Drop it.” Marsh snugged his seat belt. “Take me to Enterprise.”

  “Aye, Captain,” she said in her best Scottish accent. “I see, so you’re going to play incommunicado with your own attorney. Give me the tools, and I’ll go to work for you, but you’re making that next to impossible. Very manly of you, this stonewall act. Doubtless you get some Cro-Magnon thrill watching me spin my wheels—”

  “A cheap thrill, I admit.”

  “You’re full of it, you know that?” She slapped at his sh
oulder. “I don’t know why I put up with you. Something about a man who knows where he’s going, I guess.”

  Knows where he’s going? Considering the day’s mysteries, that was debatable.

  Let me be a lamp for your feet, Marsh. Let me be your vision.

  The thought came out of nowhere. A seepage of light. Marsh had to wonder if he was losing touch, talking to himself, offering inane advice in the midst of traumatic events. Or was this a remnant from his comparative religions courses, an echo of his professor’s theistic leanings? Maybe one of Kara’s phrases. She read from the Bible regularly but was gracious enough never to push those moments on him.

  Marsh’s phone rang, showing another blocked number. He braced himself for further threats from Steele Knight. Or, perhaps, a clue from his wife.

  “Sir?”

  “Rosie, your number’s blocked. Where are you calling from?”

  “Oh my, is it ever good to hear your voice. I’m with relatives. Investigators have been combing the manor since your … departure this morning, and we were told politely, but firmly, to vacate. An unpleasant turn of events. At my age, it’s most shameful to be tossed onto the streets.”

  “They’re desperate. Misguided but trying to do their jobs.”

  “Thankfully I have Li’l Corporal to keep me company.”

  Marsh thought of Rosie’s dachshund, the way his tail wagged his tube-shaped body. She had brought Li’l Corporal along when she took the position. Like a well-meaning aunt, Rosie was a bit abstemious and old-fashioned but always attentive. He regretted, and took some blame for, the turmoil of her day.

  “The team should be finished by tonight or early tomorrow,” he tried to assure her. “Was Henri Esprit able to contact everyone as I instructed? How’d the staff and crew handle things? Did everyone survive the Thursday morning surprise?”

  “Survive? An unseemly choice of words, sir.”

  “An expression.”

  “If I may say so, a little more caution might be in order. Before I left, the police appeared intent on uncovering something. Anything, perhaps. They were able to locate the art gallery I saw advertised on the station wagon, but the curator lady insisted she had no record of a purchase in your name.”

  “Isn’t that what I tried to tell them?”

  “Nevertheless, they wanted to twist that into an item of suspicion as well. The painting is breathtaking, but I must ask, why did you select that over a piano, such as we discussed?”

  “I didn’t buy it! Even you think I’m lying about this, Rosie?”

  “No, sir, I don’t believe so. But they found other items that gave me pause. The hand towel, I must mention that. The blood was still wet, and they found it where I’d set it with the laundry. I told them how you’d cut yourself. They sealed it in a bag.”

  “Great, just great.” Marsh ran a finger along his cheekbone.

  “Sir, I tried to be circumspect in my responses. I hope I haven’t overstepped my—”

  “Listen, you did what you had to do, Rosie. Far as I’m concerned, I’ve got nothing to hide. Best to answer honestly, or it could come back to haunt me.”

  Haunt me? What am I saying? Those were my mother’s words earlier.

  “Sir?” Rosie squeaked. “I do have a request. I … well, I thought perhaps I could check the beach house for you, verify whether or not Kara ever arrived. I know there’s been no answer. I tried ringing her myself. But it wouldn’t hurt to look.”

  “Police’ve got it covered. Officer Lansky said they’d have a county sheriff check it out this afternoon. Not like those coastal cops have much to do.”

  “To be honest, sir, I do have another motive.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, as you’re aware”—her voice cracked with an elderly woman’s pride—”I’ve been ousted from my quarters. As it stands, there’s little room here at my relatives’ home. They’re hosting a German exchange student, and I fear I’ll only be a millstone around their necks. They’ve agreed to watch over Li’l Corporal, which is certainly one weight off my back, but … I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I …”

  “You what, you need a place to sack out?”

  “Yes, sir. Thought I could kill two birds with one stone, make myself useful.”

  “Sure, you’re welcome to stay in Yachats.” He tried not to chuckle. “You can straighten things up, give the place a good overhaul. Remember the mess it was in after we let the Brocks use it for a weekend?”

  “I’ll see that things are spotless.”

  “Good. With the bad weather, you won’t have much else to do with your time anyway. You know where the key’s hidden, right?”

  “Knothole in the second porch post?”

  “Third post. Drive safely. It’s supposed to get nasty tonight.”

  “Almost there.” Casey pointed to the nearing Enterprise Rent-A-Car sign. Her hand slipped to the console between them, and her voice eased into a non-work-related tone. “Hope there’s nothing wrong between you and Kara. You’re a busy couple, not much time alone. She does take good care of you though, I’m sure.”

  “She’s missing, Casey! What’re you talking about?”

  “No reason to get defensive, Marshall. You’re an attractive man.”

  “Not bad for a Cro-Magnon, huh?” He gave a primeval grunt.

  “Speaking of which, you were a bit boorish with Josee.”

  “Boorish? So how would you have handled it? I offered to buy her dessert, and she refused. Stormed out. You saw her.”

  “She didn’t want you buying off your guilt. On the witness stand—here’s a pointer for you—even the innocent ones look guilty when they act cold and distant as you did. I’m sure Josee saw it that way. You looked guilty as sin.”

  Pinpricks of guilt? A bloody hand towel. A question mark of blood …

  Marsh cast his eyes at his attorney. How much should he divulge? Anything he said could jeopardize the arrangement with Steele Knight. He could not risk that.

  Casey was slowing. She hit her turn signal before the rental parking lot, and in the same moment, shadows moved over Marsh’s legs and up his torso. Feathery specters. Irritating blackbirds, like those circling at the hotel. He blinked against a spike of ice through his temples, and when he refocused, he saw a woman standing in the driveway.

  Casey was turning. Going in fast.

  “Watch out!”

  “What?”

  “You’re gonna run into her!”

  Marsh grabbed at Casey’s arm so that the sedan hopped over the curb and skidded into the lot. The front end clipped the woman’s legs and vaulted her into the air. Limbs flailed, and a head collided into the windshield. The body clung to the hood.

  “Marshall!” Casey jammed the brake pedal to the floor, and the smell of burnt rubber filled the sedan. The car slid sideways to a stop. “What are you doing?”

  “You hit her!” he said.

  With a slow turn, the woman’s face stared through the glass with frightened eyes—turquoise eyes that pierced straight through him. He stared back in disbelief. Had Josee walked here from downtown? She couldn’t have known he would come to this particular rental lot.

  “Hit who?” Casey pried Marsh’s fingers from her arm.

  “She’s hurt.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  Dazed, Marsh watched Josee slump her head, saw her mangled body slide back off the hood and drop below the bumper. He jumped from the car and dashed to her aid. Casey joined him, crouching beside him in the hot breath of the car’s radiator.

  “What’s going on, Marshall?”

  “I swear, she was right here,” he whispered. “I saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “Where’d she go? She needs help.”

  “What’re you saying? Are you speaking of your wife? Yes, we know she’s gone but not for good. We don’t know that, not yet—unless you have something to tell me.”

  He rubbed a hand over the pavement; tiny pebbles dug int
o his skin. The shape of his arm fanned back and forth across his vision. No blood. No broken glass.

  Josee, was that you? Are you out here? Talk to me.

  “If you know something,” Casey said, “please don’t hide it from me.”

  He looked up, uncomprehending. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see her.”

  “No, I didn’t. There’s no one out here.”

  Marsh pressed his face to the pavement, scanned the ground beneath the sedan. Nothing but oil drops, a wrinkled receipt, a black comb with a strand of knotted hair. Another apparition—was that all she’d been? A psychosomatic concoction?

  Scrap it all. Why had he even reacted? He should know better by now.

  See, Josee, this is what I was saying. The past gets dirty. It messes you up.

  Casey was trying to console him. “Hang tough, Marshall. It’s been quite a day. I suggest you get your rental car squared away, then head straight over to the Ramada. Relax, have yourself a drink. Take it easy for the rest of the night, shoot a round of golf tomorrow if you think it’ll help. Perhaps I’ll stop by later and check on you. Knowing you, tomorrow’ll be packed full, particularly in light of your vineyard’s downtime today.”

  “The vineyard? What about Kara?”

  “They’ll find her, don’t you think? Explanations always seem obvious in retrospect. In no time, you two’ll be back to your routine, back to meetings and winetastings and hobnobbing. As though nothing ever happened.”

  But something has happened. These glimpses—of Josee, of Kara.

  Beneath the car’s chassis, an object moved in the breeze. Caught Marsh’s eye. He stretched his hand over the asphalt. “I’m sure you’re right, but—”

  “Of course I am. Women’s intuition.”

  “If you’re so in tune”—he lifted the object—”then tell me where this came from. Answer that one, lawyer lady.”

  She touched the glass figurine. “A chess piece, isn’t it? A bishop?”

  “Same style as the set in my study. Unavailable in the US.”

  “Scratched and a bit dirty, but it’s exquisite nonetheless. You think it’s yours?” Her green eyes locked on to his. “You do, don’t you, Marshall?”