River Road (16 page)

The word
relationship
sent a frisson of uncertainty through Lucy. Mason was teasing her, she thought. She would follow suit.

“Well, I don’t think you can call three dates a relationship,” she said lightly. “But I can tell you that both of the dates we’ve had so far were a lot more interesting than all thirty matchmaking agency dates I’ve had in the past few months.”

“You said none of those arranged matches got past two dates, right?”

“Right. Most didn’t get past the first date, actually.”

“We are now on date number three. Given your track record, that constitutes a relationship.”

T
he restaurant was exactly what one expected in wine country—a bistro-style setting and an innovative West Coast menu. A display of local wines arrayed in floor-to-ceiling racks decorated one wall. Long-stemmed glassware sparkled on the tables. The menu earnestly assured diners that almost everything, from the arugula and the cheese in the arugula-and-fried-goat-cheese salad to the handmade ravioli, was organic and had been produced within a fifty-mile radius of the establishment—in some cases by the farm that was operated by the restaurant’s owner and chef.

Lucy wore the twilight dress that she had purchased for the winery reception. At least she would get two nights of wear out of it before it went to the back of her closet when she returned to Vantage Harbor. She had, however, indulged in some new high-heeled sandals. A woman could always use another pair of shoes.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed to her that when the party of four was escorted to a table they were followed by a lot of discreetly curious glances. Find one lousy body in your aunt’s fireplace and the first thing you know everyone is talking.

The evening started off with surprising ease. Rafe and Mason got along well from the start. When Rafe discovered that neither she nor Mason considered themselves wine connoisseurs, Rafe ordered a bottle of dry Riesling for the table after kindly explaining that it was
very approachable
. The waiter discussed the menu in reverential tones using language that belonged to the realm of poetry. Selections were made and orders taken.

And then the politely conducted mutual interrogation began. You had to give a little to get a little, Mason had advised going in. Lucy knew he was right. It was, after all, the first rule of gossip. For the most part, she and Mason answered the questions in a forthright manner until the entrées arrived. The only things they refrained from mentioning were her suspicions about the car accident that had killed Sara and Mary and her conviction that the house had been searched. Mason had stood firm on those two key points.
You are not going to make an
even bigger target of yourself than you have already
were the precise words he had used. Put like that, it was hard to argue the point.

“Not surprised you’re running into some pressure from the Colfaxes,” Rafe said. “It’s no secret that they all want those shares back. They say Warner Colfax almost had a stroke when he discovered that someone outside the family had inherited a controlling interest and had the right to sell or give the shares to whoever she wished.”

“I’m sure Colfax will pay well for them,” Teresa said. “You’ll come out of this a wealthy woman, Lucy.”

“The trouble is, everyone in the family wants to buy those shares from Lucy,” Mason explained. “Money, evidently, is no object.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, Warner is definitely the richest one in the clan,” Rafe observed. “So he can probably afford to give you the best price.”

“Yes, I know,” Lucy said. She ate a bite of the thinly sliced, delicately sautéed Brussels-sprouts-and-shallots dish that had accompanied her pasta. “Speaking of the past, do either of you remember much about what happened around the time that Tristan Brinker disappeared?”

Teresa and Rafe looked at each other, and then Rafe shrugged.

“You’ll have to ask Teresa,” he said. “I didn’t live here thirteen years ago.”

“I certainly remember the reaction when we got the news that Brinker had gone missing,” Teresa said. “Every teen in town was talking about it.” She glanced at Mason. “You were still here at the time. You must recall the commotion.”

“I remember,” Mason said. “But I was a little busy at the time.”

Teresa smiled. “I know. You were working in the hardware store and fixing up that old house and generally holding things together for yourself and your brother while your uncle was away.”

“I heard some of the talk at the store, but I wasn’t in high school, so I didn’t get the younger teen version of events,” Mason said.

“It was all typical over-the-top teen conspiracy-theory stuff, for the most part,” Teresa said. “There were two variations, as I recall. The most popular version held that since Tristan obviously had connections in the illicit drug market he had probably been the victim of a drug deal gone bad. That turned out to be the police theory as well. The second scenario, of course, was that you had something to do with his disappearance, Mason.”

Mason shook his head. “Nope. Wasn’t me.”

“Well, we know that now,” Teresa said. “But at the time there was a rumor going around that you and Brinker had quarreled the night of the last party out at the old Harper Ranch.”

“We had words,” Mason said. “But that was the end of it.”

Rafe gave him a speculative look. “That was the end of it, thanks to Sara Sheridan.”

Mason did not respond.

“I can tell you that no one ever suspected her,” Teresa said. “I do remember that when it became clear that Brinker really had disappeared and people started saying he was probably dead, some of the kids seemed relieved. I think Jillian Benson—Jillian Colfax now—was one of them, by the way. Nolan Kelly, too. Or at least that was my take on the situation.”

Lucy paused her fork in the air. “I got the impression that both Jillian and Nolan liked Brinker. Or maybe I should say they liked being in the circle that hung around him.”

“All I can tell you is that when the authorities announced that Brinker was missing and presumed dead, Jillian didn’t exactly go into mourning,” Teresa said. “But I’m not positive about her reaction. It was just an impression I got. Same with Nolan and some of the other kids. But I was a couple of years younger, as you know, so I wasn’t moving in their circles.”

“Brinker was a real piece of work,” Lucy said. “If it turns out that he was the Scorecard Rapist, he was a lot more dangerous than anyone could have known at the time. He sure had the teens of Summer River under his spell that summer, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Teresa shuddered. “Now that I’ve got kids of my own, I think about him from time to time. And I worry.”

Rafe’s expression turned grim. “I wasn’t here in those days, but I’ve seen enough in my teaching career to know just how bad things can get in the world of teenagers when you’ve got a slightly older, charismatic sociopath in the mix.”

Teresa picked up her wineglass. “And to think Brinker’s father was so proud of his son.”

N
olan Kelly searched the desk one last time, aiming the penlight into each drawer. There was nothing except neatly stacked papers, old bills, gardening catalogs and the kind of junk that piles up over the years—boxes of paper clips, pens, rubber bands.

He abandoned the desk and turned to survey the room that Sara Sheridan had used as an office. This was his second attempt to locate the old video. Last night had proven fruitless, but he was determined to give it one more try.

Thirteen years ago he had searched for it obsessively. He had gone through the house that Brinker had rented for the summer from top to bottom, but he had found nothing. There had been nothing online, either. In the end, he had told himself that Brinker had never uploaded the damning evidence—probably because he had known there was a possibility that the trail could lead back to him. Brinker had always looked out for number one, always made sure to cover his tracks, Nolan thought.

He figured that Sara must have discovered Brinker’s stash of videos. It was the only way she could have known that Brinker was the Scorecard Rapist. And if she had known that much, Nolan thought, she would have known about the drug connection. If the video he was looking for was somewhere in the house, there was a high probability that Lucy would discover it when she packed up her aunt’s things.

He checked his watch. He had some time. There was no need to panic—not yet. He had watched Lucy and Mason enter the restaurant with Teresa and Rafe Vega. The meal would be a leisurely affair.

What he could not predict was whether Lucy and Mason would return to the old house after dinner. He had to assume that it was a strong possibility. There were not a lot of convenient beds available to a couple seeking privacy in Summer River. He was sure that if Lucy and Mason were not already sleeping together, they soon would be. He had recognized the dangerous look in Mason’s eyes when he had walked into the kitchen that morning. Mason had not liked finding Lucy alone with another man.

If you only knew the truth, Fletcher.

Nolan swung the penlight around the room, taking one last look. He had no personal interest in Lucy. Hell, back at the start, all he had cared about was getting an exclusive listing so that he could sell the property to his Silicon Valley client. But when Brinker’s body turned up in the fireplace, he had been shaken to the core. Disaster loomed. It was just like the bastard to come back to haunt him. Some part of him had been waiting all these years for the other shoe to drop, and now it had.

He abandoned the search. It was hopeless. There were just too many places the old video could have been hidden in the house—always assuming that Sara had found it in the first place.

He took a deep breath and tried to think. He was running out of time. Since he could not find the video, he was left with only one option. He had come prepared tonight. The can of accelerant was waiting downstairs.

He hated to burn down the house. It really was a jewel. True, it was too small for the client who intended to build a French château and a walled courtyard complete with swimming pool and tennis courts. Nevertheless, the old Craftsman would have made a picturesque guest cottage on the estate. But the bottom line was that it was the size of the property and the location that were worth a fortune to the client—not the small house.

He went out into the hall, the narrow beam of the penlight spearing through the shadows.

Somewhere in the darkness of the first floor, a door squeaked on its hinges. A draft of night air shifted in the atmosphere upstairs. No one turned the lights on. Whoever had just entered had no more right to be here than he did.

Belatedly, he remembered to switch off the penlight. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The beam of a flashlight bounced in the shadows. Nolan knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He switched his own light back on in self-defense.

He pinned the intruder at the top of the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief. Instinctively, he fell back on his only real talent—a talent for sales.

“I should have known,” he said. “I suppose you’re here for the same reason I am. Let’s talk. Maybe we can figure out how to deal with our mutual problem.”

T
hey took their time over coffee and dessert. It was late when the four of them left the restaurant. Main Street was quiet at that hour. The boutiques and shops were dark. Teresa and Rafe expressed a desire to get together again before Lucy left town and then got into their car and drove off.

Mason put an arm around Lucy’s waist. She did not pull away. He tugged her a little closer, savoring the thrill he got every time he touched her. The pretty dress she wore somehow managed to look demure and seductive at the same time. In the silence, the high heels of her sandals tapped a blood-heating staccato on the sidewalk.

He considered his options. The last thing he wanted to do was take her back to the inn. But, as he had been forcibly reminded last night, there were not a lot of places a couple could go and be assured of privacy in such a small town. He doubted that Lucy would appreciate being invited to engage in a little foreplay and possibly more in the backseat of his car.

Not that he would care. He would have been delighted to have sex with her anywhere, under any conditions. But a man had his pride. He wanted to impress Lucy. That was hard to do in the back of a car. There was a motel on the edge of town, but he was pretty sure that would sound like a tacky idea, too. There was also the strong possibility that someone would drive past and recognize his vehicle.

If, on the other hand, they drove a little farther—say, to Healdsburg or Santa Rosa or even over to the coast—they might be able to find a suitable motel. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. It was after ten. It would be close to midnight before they found an anonymous place to spend the night, always assuming Lucy would go for the plan.

And then there was the problem of how to handle returning Lucy to the Harvest Gold Inn tomorrow morning. He did not want her feeling as if she was doing the walk of shame when he brought her back. But half the town was sure to find out that she had spent the night with him. Would she care? Would she even go for the idea in the first place?

Decisions, decisions.

The inn was only one block away now. He had to come up with a plan, and fast. He wondered if Lucy was also contemplating the possibility of sex.

“I thought it was interesting that Teresa mentioned Jillian as one of the people who seemed relieved when Brinker disappeared,” Lucy said. “Did you see her after I left town?”

Mason stifled a groan. That answered one question. Lucy had not been contemplating the prospect of having sex with him in an anonymous motel. He pulled his thoughts back from the edge and called up memories.

“Jillian? Sure, I saw her around town a few times, but I think she deliberately steered clear of me after that night at the park.”

“Not surprising. She would have known that you blamed her, at least in part, for what nearly happened to me.”

“Brinker must have used her to lure you there. She was his accomplice.”

“That’s harsh. She probably didn’t know what Brinker intended.”

“She knew.”

A siren shrieked somewhere in the distance, shattering the silence of the darkened town. He felt Lucy flinch under his hand. He tightened his fingers on her hip. She relaxed.

“In the city you become so accustomed to sirens you tune them out,” she said. “But when you hear one in a small town, it gets your attention.”

A second siren screamed in the night.

“County fire trucks,” Mason said. “Must be something big.”

He stopped, forcing Lucy to halt, too. He turned partway around, following the sound of the blaring sirens. The rows of shops that lined Main Street blocked his view, but his intuition kicked in fast.

“Damn,” he whispered.

Lucy stilled. “Good grief. You don’t think—”

“Those sirens are definitely heading toward the road that leads to your aunt’s house. Only one way to find out for sure.”

He released her waist and grabbed her hand. Together they sprinted for his car. He wondered briefly how a woman could run in high heels, but there was no time to reflect on the particular skill set required for the task.

He had the engine revving and was pulling away from the curb before Lucy finished fastening her seat belt. She sat tensely beside him.

“It could be something else,” she suggested. “A barn, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

“But it isn’t going to be a barn, is it?”

“I don’t think so.”

The house was engulfed in flames. The fire roared through both floors. Black smoke billowed into the night sky. Fire trucks, police vehicles and an aid car crowded the driveway. Hoses coiled like pythons on the ground. Streams of water ran down the driveway.

Mason found a place to park on the side of the orchard lane. He and Lucy walked toward the scene. The heat was intense, even from a distance.

Mason approached one of the cops.

“This is Lucy Sheridan,” Mason said. “She owns the house.”

The cop nodded at Lucy. “Heard Sara Sheridan left the house to a niece.”

“I was getting it ready to put on the market,” Lucy said. “But stuff seems to keep happening.”

“Yeah, like finding the body of a rapist in the fireplace,” the cop said. “Now this. The chief is not going to be happy.”

Someone yelled at the cop. He hurried away.

One of the firefighters came forward. The name on his jacket was Leggett.

“You’re the owner, ma’am?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Any chance that there was anyone at home tonight?”

“No, thank heavens.” Lucy folded her wrap around herself. “The house was empty. I’m staying in town.”

“That’s some good news, then,” Leggett said. “Sure hope you had insurance.”

“Yes, the premium was paid through the end of the year,” Lucy said. “Do you have any idea what might have started the fire?”

“Not yet,” Leggett said. “The house was old. Could have been any number of things, from wiring to transients. There will be an investigation after things cool down. That will take a couple of days.”

He walked away to rejoin his crew.

Lucy looked at Mason. “I’m betting it won’t be the wiring.”

“That’s a sucker bet,” Mason said. “I’m not taking it.”

“I seriously doubt that the fire was the work of transients, either.”

“Might depend on your definition of
transient
,” Mason said.

“Why in the world would anyone burn down Sara’s house, and why now?”

“Maybe because whoever did it couldn’t find what he was looking for last night and figured that the safest way to make sure any incriminating evidence disappeared was to torch the house.”

“What evidence could Sara possibly have possessed?” Lucy asked.

“She knew that Brinker was the Scorecard Rapist. Maybe she knew other things as well.”

“Maybe. But in that case, I would have thought she would have concealed it with the body.”

“Not if she concluded that innocent people might be hurt if the evidence was ever found,” Mason said.

“You’re right.” Lucy thought about it. “But if she believed that was true, trust me, she would have destroyed the evidence thirteen years ago.”

“Whoever burned down the house couldn’t have been certain of that.”

Lucy contemplated the burning house. “I guess this takes care of the problem of packing up Sara’s things and bringing in an appraiser.”

“I’d say so.”

“One thing for sure, this date didn’t end the way I thought it would.”

“Yeah, I had a different ending in mind, too,” Mason said. “I think we should leave town for our next date.”

Lacy glanced at him. Her face was unreadable. Her eyes were mysterious pools.

“Got any suggestions?” she asked.

“What do you say we drive over to the coast tomorrow?”

“This isn’t going to be a real date, is it?”

“When I hit a wall in a case, I sometimes find that it helps to visit the scene of the crime.”

“Wow, an out-of-town date to visit a crime scene,” Lucy said. “See, this is what was missing in all those matchmaking-agency dates.”

“What?”

“Originality.”