Endless Fear (2 page)

Intentionally arriving one day early, April had planned to spend the night in Friday Harbor, reacquaint herself with the town where she had attended school, and go to Farraday Island in the morning. No such luck!

“
I ‘bout had a stroke when I saw you in the Herb’s café.” Karl laughed, and much to her chagrin, glanced over his broad shoulder. She wished he would pay more attention to his navigating and less to her, but that seemed to be a futile hope. “Man, I thought fer sure it was Lily Cordell come back to life.”

April cringed, hating the unavoidable comparison. Unwittingly, she caught her reflection in the glass. From her shoulder-length gold blond hair, to her round aqua eyes, right down to her fine-boned features, she looked hauntingly like her famous mother.

The noisy engine chugged and whined inside the tight confines of the wheelhouse which suddenly seemed to contain to little air. Why couldn’t Karl quit staring at her?

As though he had read this thought and was determined to defy it, the corners of his generous mouth curled. Heat spiraled into her face. Was he flirting with her? She knew men found her attractive; she was, after all, her mother’s daughter. In appearance anyway. However, the few experiences she had had with men had taught her that sending mixed signals could be disastrous.
Especially when you weren’t aware you
were sending them.

Flustered, she raised her voice to be heard above the raucous engine. “Well, if you hadn’t introduced yourself, I wouldn’t have recognized you, Karl.”

The smile reached into his ice blue eyes. “Yeah! I came into my own.”

That was putting it mildly, April thought, realizing for the first time that this whole visit would likely be one confrontation after another with change. She had best be prepared.

At last Karl devoted his attention to maneuvering the unsettling swells. Her stomach felt queasy. Taking advantage of his silence, April leaned her head against the vibrating wall, and gazed at the gloom-shrouded afternoon. Prepared or not, was she ready to see Spencer? His image came to her in a flash, and her heart quickened. Twelve years would have changed him, too. Why had he never married? Why did these feelings for him persist? Why had she avoided finding out all she could about him?

Karl interrupted this scenario she had hashed through too many times over the past four years. “Got a real storm brewing.”

April nodded, but said nothing. Karl, she decided, had a penchant for stating the obvious.

“
How come you ain’t got much of a tan? I thought Phoenix was sunny year round.”

“
It’s usually sunny, but not always warm. Besides, I’m too busy for sunbathing.”

“
Doin’ what?”

The question sounded like simple curiosity, but was it? “Working and going to school.” She didn’t want to talk about herself. “What about you?”

“
Your pa just promoted me. I got my daddy’s old job lookin’ after the grounds, the cars, the ferry—you know, a little of this, a little of that.”

April’s memory of Karl’s father Jesse Winston remained clear. Jesse had dark hair and pale eyes, and he was a man whose job kept him fit, kept his skin perpetually tan. As a young girl she’d thought him quite a hunk. Of course, that was before she’d lost her heart to someone else.

Tragically, Jesse had died soon after the car he’d been working under slipped off its jack and crushed his chest. The accident had occurred two months before her mother’s. With a start, April realized Karl and she had both lost a parent at about the same time.

Before she could comment on this, Karl said, “Say, my old lady’s eyes are gonna bug out when she sees you. She loved your ma.”

April forced a smile. Karl’s mother had been the cook and housekeeper at Calendar House for as long as she could recall. A wayward thought struck her. Had his mother loved Lily enough to send the mysterious note? Involuntarily, April shivered.
Don’t jump to conclusions,
she reminded herself. “How is Helga?”

“
Same as always. A little thicker around the middle since you last saw her. ‘Course she’d got her hands full readying for the party. Gonna be some shindig. Lotta important people coming…even some reporters.”

April’s neck muscles ached with tension. Could the fact that the press would be attending her stepbrother’s engagement party explain the motive behind the anonymous note? She knew her resemblance to Lily was bound to cause a stir, but surely her absence would also have created unwanted speculation. Which was worse? Hugging herself, she gazed toward the heaving waters of Haro Strait. “How much longer before we reach the Island?”

“
A few more minutes.” He moved aside and gestured toward the ship’s wheel. The grin was back. “You wanna steer a while?”

“
No, thanks.” What she wanted at the moment was to be alone. “If you don’t have any objection, I think I’ll wait in my car for the remainder of the trip.”

“
Suit yourself. It won’t be as warm out there.”

The colder confines of her rented car sounded preferable to the sudden oppressive warmth inside the wheelhouse. April picked her way gingerly across the slick deck of the swaying craft. Rain pelted down, saturating her in seconds. The going was rough. With every rise and fall of the waves, the aged planks creaked and groaned as if they were struggling to hold together. The eerie sound stirred goose flesh on her neck.

Inches from the car, a gust of wind stole her balance. She slipped, caught hold of the car’s door-handle and righted herself. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. In these rough seas, the car might decide to jump ship.

Scoffing at her fears, she stubbornly climbed into the driver’s seat, determined not to be intimidated by the weather, or her own active imagination, or Karl’s overly friendly manner. Oh, he seemed nice enough. And God knew, he was easy to look at, but she had not right to encourage—however unintentionally—any man.
Even Spencer
...
A pain centered in her chest. Until she broke through her memory block and learned to deal with whatever she discovered, her future was one big question mark.

Unshed tears obscured her vision as much as the rain on the windshield. She daubed her eyes with a tissue and checked the rearview mirror for mascara smudges. Finding none, she started the engine and flicked on the wipers.

A full five seconds passed before she realized what she was seeing.

Farraday Island.

It rose out of Haro Strait, a crudely shaped horseshoe consisting of nearly two thousand acres of forests and beaches, rocky shores and dangerous cliffs. The house and its outbuildings occupied the southernmost arm.

The ferry smoothed as Karl left the open waters and navigated into a sheltered cove. Directly ahead was the landing dock. April tensed. In the pit of her stomach a swirl of panic rose. Forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly, she strained for a glimpse of the house that dominated the promontory.

On a clear day it was impossible to miss from this vantage point. Now, however, the misty downpour obscured all but the massive roof line. It was enough to start her heart careening.

Within minutes, Karl had moored the ferry, lowered the ramp, and removed the blocks securing her tires. Maneuvering the car ahead, she rolled down the window, actually welcoming the cooling rain on her flushed face. “Would you like a ride to the house?”

“
Naw, I got a few things to finish here first.”

“
Okay. See you later.”

April disembarked. The car’s tires spun and caught as she drove onto wet asphalt and began a steep ascent. Although the narrow lane seemed to wind aimlessly away from her destination, she knew it eventually circled back and led to the spacious parking apron in front of the house.

Leafless madronas lined the road like a naked garrison guarding the way.
They’d grown so tall.

The boathouse had disappeared from view, and seconds later she was passing the six-car garage. Wind railed against the rented compact. Trees bobbed and bent and moaned. Branches snapped and leaped into her path. The wipers were useless against the onslaught of rain and debris.

April squinted into the failing light, recalling the beauty of this place in high summer. She shivered. This was January at its ugliest: soggy, matted grass, flowerless bushes, and puddle water. The bleakness struck a chord within her. Arizona and Dr. Merritt suddenly seemed far away, too far away.

Her headlights pierced the darkness as she peered uneasily into the shadowed gloom.

In the distance to her left, she spotted what appeared to be a cluster of sporadic lights. The housekeeper’s cottage. Even that cozy abode looked forlorn today.

Trying to ignore a chilling sense of foreboding, she managed the final curve.

Lightning speared the sky, illuminating the area for a split second.

Her foot hit the brake. April blinked.

Calendar House!

It hid in the rainy mist, angling this way and that, like some huge stone and mortar monster waiting to destroy her.

Chapter Two

Bone-chilling wind drove sheeting rain against April’s backside as she rushed to the porch and knocked on the heavy pine door.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Where was everyone? Granted she wasn’t expected until tomorrow, but there were lights on inside; surely someone was home. Finding the door unlocked, April stepped into the immense foyer. Her stomach seemed to be in her throat. Swallowing hard, she wrestled the door shut, and then set her single suitcase on the planked floor.

For a long moment, she stood motionless, listening for approaching footsteps or the sound of voices. All she heard was the pelting rain and the thundering of her heart. She drew a quivery breath. The faint aromas of roasting beef and lemon oil tangled in her nostrils. Inexplicably, these homey touches lifted the fine hairs on the nape of her neck.

Her gaze flicked uneasily from the sweeping staircase at her left to the rough-hewn, open beamed ceilings, to the hammered pewter chandelier overhead, and lastly, to the gleaming pine floors beneath her feet which sported a hodgepodge of subtly-shaded Oriental rugs.
Nothing to be frightened of,
she chided herself.

It did look different though. Redecorated. Except for its grander size, Calendar House brought to mind an old English hunting lodge, best suited to antiques, natural woods, and overstuffed furniture in natural fabrics. Twelve years ago it had looked that way.

April frowned in disbelief. Black lacquered tables and low slung couches with frilly flowered throw pillows and matching drapes adorned the sunken living room. Valuable looking Oriental vases sat in the foyer. It was so inappropriate, she wondered if someone had deliberately tried to remove every trace of Lily and her era here.

Trying to shake the unsettling notion, April removed her wet parka and dropped it atop her suitcase. A blast of wind slammed against the leaded windows on either side of the door. She jumped. It felt nearly as cold inside as it had outside. Had it always been so?

A sudden lull in the downpour exposed heretofore unheard voices coming from the vicinity of her father’s den.

With her nerves taut, April headed into the wide hallway at her right. As she neared the den, she realized her Aunt March was speaking; the elderly woman’s grating tones were unmistakable.

“
Not thinking, as usual.” The clack of knitting needles punctuated her words. “If ever you’d consider the ramifications of your actions, brother dear, instead of leading with your heart….”

“
For the love of God! Must I remind you…April is my daughter. Your niece! She belongs here as much as either of us.”

April froze. Her pulse skipped, her mouth dried. She knew she should walk in and let them know she had arrived. Unaccountably, she stood rigid, inches from the doorway, listening.

“
Humph! How do we know she’s strong enough?” Her aunt had neither dropped a stitch nor a beat. “What if the shock of returning to Calendar House sets her off again?”

“
Really, March!” Her father’s voice resounded in anger. “Hysterical amnesia is hardly schizophrenia!”

Another furious clack of needles followed. “Bad genes! That’s what. Never been insanity in the Farraday family…’til you married that actress, August. Show people! Hah! Unstable, the lot of ‘em.”

No insanity in the Farraday family?
April pressed her palm to her mouth, stifling an angry “Hah!”
Generations of Farradays named for the month in which they were born.
Perhaps not insanity, but definitely a strain of eccentricity.