Rough Harbor (18 page)

Caitlyn got out of the car and pulled her coat tight. She gave a look around her, as if she expected to see something. Too many secrets, Caitlyn thought uneasily, and remembered the intruder in her house. She needed to get the locks changed.

A light wind rustled the bare branches of the trees, the sound a rough creaking of wood on wood that set her teeth on edge and sent a shiver down her back. The sound of wet tires on the road gave her pause, and she turned and saw a vehicle drive by. In the dark, she could not see the true color, only that it was dark, rather than light. It was impossible, she thought. This was suburbia, the land of station wagons and SUVs. There was no reason at all to think it was the same one she’d seen in Paulet or even earlier in Queensbay. Paranoia whispered in her head.

No reason at all, she repeated to herself. Caitlyn lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall once, twice, before she took her gloves off and pounded on the door with the base of her open palm. Her blows rang heavily on the wood, and when she paused, she could hear footsteps. The white curtain that hid the glass pane next to the door pulled back, and she caught a glimpse of red hair. She waved at Marion, who unlocked the door and stood there in her blue housecoat and pink slippers, glasses sliding down her nose. Without makeup, her pink skin seemed less smooth and showed more of her true age. Caitlyn thought of the two of them, living here, growing old together, and she was reminded of how much time she spent worrying about the past.

“What in the name…?”

Caitlyn pushed into the foyer, glad even for the marginal improvement in warmth.

“I need to see her. Is she up?”

Marion looked at her, surprise and shock still on her face.

“But it’s late.”

“Not that late,” Caitlyn said and started to walk down the hallway that led to the library. She hadn’t made it far when Adriana, dressed in a high, white-necked nightgown and robe, stood out from the shadows and stepped into the dim light.

“We need to talk,” Caitlyn said when she saw her.

Adriana had no make-up on, her face suddenly small, her hair held back by a wide, white band, so tight it pulled the skin at her temples back, giving her face a drawn, surprised look. But her voice was perfectly even as she nodded and said, “I suppose we must.”

Without another word, Caitlyn followed Adriana towards the back room, where the lamps were all on, casting pools of light over the dark wood and crimson tones of the leather chair and wool rug. She took off her coat, and Marion reached out a hand for it.

“Coffee?”

Caitlyn nodded and raised a hand, dismissive and appreciative all at once. Adriana gestured towards a chair, and Caitlyn sat, running her hands through her hair, fighting the urge to shiver.

“Will you light the fire?” Adriana asked, and Caitlyn did, finding the matches in the small box on the mantle, dropping to one knee and watching as the light curled around the edges of the paper and kindling that had already been laid on the hearth. She stayed as close as she could until she could take no more and then sat back in her chair, the two of them catty-corner to each other, flanking the small but bright fire.

Marion brought in coffee before they began to speak, and Caitlyn poured it for them both, adding milk and sugar for herself and eagerly taking advantage of the oatmeal raisin cookies that had been provided.

Now alone, Caitlyn asked, “Who is Peter Flynn?”

Adriana snorted and answered, “A nuisance. That is what he is.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I think I do, but I thought I might understand it better if it came from you.”

“First, tell me what you know,” Adriana said.

Caitlyn continued, “You wouldn’t have agreed to see me so easily, if you didn’t think I knew.”

“True, but I promised to keep it a secret.”

“For how long?”

Adriana moved her shoulder. “Forever, I suppose.”

“Does it matter now?” Caitlyn asked.

“No, it probably doesn’t. Time has a way of changing things. What seemed so vitally important then… well, now it seems to have little power to shock or scare. You have to remember, as time changes, things that seemed so important at one time stop being so. What was once considered damaging, now most likely isn’t. So, don’t judge us too harshly.”

Caitlyn felt her heart sink. It was as she had thought.

“How did you find out?” Adriana said.

“Peter Flynn called me, looking for something. Information. He offered to trade me, to tell me the truth about something that had been on my conscience, plaguing me. He said there was more to the story. More about why my grandfather, your lover, killed himself.”

“We told some lies.”

“Why?” Caitlyn spat out the word.

“You know that your grandfather and I had an affair. It started almost twenty-five, thirty years ago, and went on and off, while your grandmother was still alive, while I was very much married to Trip Randolph. I am not proud of it, but I cannot deny what we had. Your grandmother died quite early on, before you were born.”

Caitlyn shook her head. The memories of her grandmother were indistinct and hazy, filtered through her mother in rare moments of closeness.

“Well, you would think that divorce would be easy. Everyone was getting them. But not for the Randolphs and, well, he was quite rich. So rich that he was the one who gave Lucas the money to start the firm in the first place. And continued to invest, the silent partner.”

Caitlyn nodded. She had thought that the initial capital needed to come from somewhere. Lucas Montgomery had made the mistake of falling in love with the patron’s wife. A sticky situation.

“I ended it with Lucas. Someone had found out and threatened to tell Randolph. I knew if that happened, Randolph would be livid and would try to destroy the firm, destroy everything your grandfather had built. I couldn’t let that happen, so I ended it, without explanation. And then your grandfather killed himself.”

“That’s it?” Caitlyn asked.

“No. The stories came out about the missing money. It all seemed to make perfect sense. People were sympathetic to Maxwell because he was left holding the bag. He made such a deal out of it, without seeming to, stoic and uncomplaining, a man whose mentor had betrayed him. Had destroyed everything that they had worked together to build, had been duping him. It was masterful, really. Trip stepped in, and together he and Maxwell were able to bail the company out, let it survive, using the story, using the excuse of criminality to cover up.”

“Cover up what?”

“Incompetence, perhaps crime, perhaps simple bad luck. I was never sure what happened, but the fact was that there was quite a lot of money missing or lost.”

“What else?” Caitlyn said, staring at Adriana until the woman looked at her briefly, the pale blue eyes flicking over her face and then returning to stare into the dancing light of the fireplace.

“After your grandfather died, I was mad with grief, of course. And guilt and betrayal. It seemed that I had made my sacrifice for nothing, given up Lucas to save what was so important to him and then only to find out those things. And then we found out he had cancer. We have to remember that, no matter what, your grandfather wouldn’t be here with us today.”

Caitlyn shook her head, and Adriana continued on.

“After Luke’s death, Flynn came to me. He was the one who had the pictures, the proof of the affair. Not a pretty sight in black and white, middle-aged love. But there it was, proof that would send Trip through the roof and destroy what chance they had of rebuilding, what chance your grandfather thought was worth dying for. Maxwell told me that they had worked it out together. Lucas knew he was dying, if he took the fall for the missing funds, then it could continue. Flynn was threatening everything they’d worked so hard to protect. I couldn’t let that happen either.”

Caitlyn started to speak, but Adriana cut her off, “Maxwell said he would handle it. I said I would allow him to, to keep my secret, if he did one thing.”

“What was that?”

“Take care of you and your mother. Make sure that you had what you needed in terms of money and education and opportunities.”

“I see,” Caitlyn said, so much becoming clear.

There had been surprisingly little money left, when her grandfather had died. It allowed them to keep the house, allowed her mother the luxury to teach and work on her pottery, for Caitlyn to go to college. Internships that had seemed like long shots, mysterious opportunities complete with stipends, had opened for her, chances to go to London, to Europe, to travel, to study abroad. Now she could see the invisible hands that had moved them all, the phone calls, the favors that had been traded and dealt. The currency of guilt.

Adriana looked at Caitlyn. “All this time, you thought there was something you could have done to stop him?”

“Haven’t you thought that, too?” Caitlyn asked.

Adriana nodded. “Yes, of course. But it seemed like Luke had his own plans. I think he thought things would work out for us all.”

Caitlyn wiped away the tears, and Adriana handed her a tissue.

“Do you feel any better?”

“No. Yes.” Caitlyn laughed. “Maybe. I’ll never know the whole story.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t Peter Flynn tell you?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “He’s dead. And so is Maxwell.”

“Oh my.” Adriana’s hand rose to her throat and dropped down. “Perhaps that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“I was expecting a call from him after Maxwell died. I’m the next link in the chain. Flynn knew I was still alive, and I thought he would try and make me pay. I’m sure that’s how Maxwell got him off our backs then.”

“You think Flynn was a blackmailer?” Caitlyn said, but it made sense. It explained the nice house and why Helen Flynn hadn’t wanted to talk to her or have the police look too closely into her husband’s death.

“Oh, I am quite sure of it. Flynn was good at digging up the dirt. I think he was also pretty good at hiding it.”

“But he didn’t call you,” Caitlyn said.

“No, I think the story had lost its power, at least from my perspective. I wouldn’t have paid, I don’t think. Trip is dead, and Mr. Biddle wouldn’t care, not in his state. And now with Maxwell dead, I suppose there is no sense in keeping it a secret. I am sorry, dear, so sorry, that all these years I let you think Lucas did something he didn’t. But he wanted it that way…”

“There’s more,” Caitlyn said, wondering how much she could tell Adriana.

“What more? Did you find something in Sully’s papers?”

Caitlyn nodded. “I did…”

She explained what she was thinking, and when she was done, Adriana reached out a hand and said, “What can I do to help?”

“Do you have any other friends like Sully? I mean ones who are clients of the Randall Group, who might be thought to be a little…”

“Old, out of it, dear?”

Caitlyn smiled. “I meant not likely to check their statements all that closely.”

Adriana smiled. “I can think of a few.”

“Good.” They talked for a few minutes more, and when Caitlyn left, Adriana gave her a hug and told her to be careful.

Caitlyn had vetoed Adriana’s suggestion that she stay the night. She wanted to go home to her own house. She wanted a bath and a drink. Caitlyn got into her car and pulled out her cell phone from the glove compartment. The screen glowed dimly as she punched in Noah’s number. She pressed send and waited. And waited. She looked at the phone, checking the strength of the signal, and saw that she must be in one of Queensbay’s notorious cell phone dead zones.

He would have to wait, she decided, and for all she knew, he was wrapped up in business meetings. She started the car and pulled away, carefully shifting into gear to avoid her tires skidding.

Caitlyn yawned. Now it was late, and she was tired. She had driven over a good portion of the state today, through traffic and bad weather. Unpleasant things had been revealed, surmises had been concocted and an unflattering portrait of a blackmailer painted. There was little anger towards Adriana, Caitlyn thought with some surprise. All these years she had known, had kept it quiet. She and Maxwell had kept the secret as Lucas had wished. Was she mad at them? A little. But there was little use in it. Two of them were dead. Adriana was alive and, Caitlyn thought ruefully, one of a handful of her friends. And Flynn, well, for whatever reason, perhaps he had gotten what he deserved. It was an uncharitable thought, and she put it out of her head immediately.

The town of Queensbay was quiet tonight. Shops were shuttered, and the streetlamps glowed, their light smeared by the rhythmic swish of her wipers. It was easy to be lulled into a trance, even for the short drive, and it was with a shock that she jumped, startled by the honking and the bright beam of lights that filled the tiny interior of her car. Caitlyn looked in the rearview mirror and squinted. There was a car behind, right up on her tail, an SUV by the height of it. The honking continued, and Caitlyn slowed down, hearing the screech of the brakes and watching the sudden swerve of the car behind her.

She was of a mind to stop and yell at the driver. Perhaps call the police. Where were they when you needed them, she thought, as the driver stopped skidding and barreled up, close and personal behind her? She flipped her hazards quickly on and then off again, but the car stayed behind her. Now, Caitlyn decided, she was angry.

She sped up, racing down the quiet streets of Queensbay, driving faster on them than she had as a senior in high school with a new license. The SUV crawled up behind her, lights flashing, and Caitlyn felt the first grip of panic. If he wanted to get around her, then he easily could. But instead the SUV stayed close on her tail.

Caitlyn turned into a side road, and her pursuer followed, the car rocking slightly on two wheels as he took the curve, a sheet of water thrown up in the air. She held tightly to the wheel of her car and thanked German engineering as the roadster stayed true. Whipping around another turn, she followed the maze of interior roads that would put her back out on Shore Road. Houses, dark and silent, were set back on the road, and she did not feel like driving up to one of them and hoping that some kind soul would help her.

But not back to her own home. That was the last thing you were supposed to do when you were being followed. And by now, there was little question in her mind that that was precisely what was happening. In fact, as she looked in her rearview mirror and caught sight of the car as it passed broadside under the light of a street lamp, she saw the color. Dark blue. Dark blue with tinted windows. That was the color of the SUV that she had seen in the parking lot at the office, outside Flynn’s house, even driving slowly by Adriana’s.

And then there were the other times, Caitlyn remembered, the creepy feeling that she was being followed, only to turn around and see some soccer mom’s van pass her by. She turned again, and this time her own car slid, and she felt herself spinning around and around. The car turned twice so that it was facing the opposite direction, the other car resting halfway up the lawn. She stared at it, but could not see anything, not even the license number, slush-splattered as the car was.

She gunned the engine and roared past it, mind made up. She would head for Noah’s, and if the lights were on, go there. If they were not, she could drive by, make a turn and head back to the town. Surely by then, someone would hear them or see them, and she could lose her pursuer.

The monstrous lights filled up her tiny car, telling her that the SUV’s distress had been temporary like her own. Heart pounding, sweaty hands gripped to the wheel, she reached down with one of them and groped on the seat for the cell phone she had dropped there. Her hand caught it, and then she turned, and it slid away, out of her grasp and onto the floor. Caitlyn slid again, the road suddenly wetter and worse out here, the back of her car fishtailing all over the place. Control, Caitlyn thought, she needed some control.

She burst out on Shore Road, the water and the beach below her. Across the water on the other end of the cove, she could see lights on in houses, shimmering on the water. Life, she thought, civilization. Maybe even another car. She sped up, cheered on by the thought that there would be someone to help her.

Caitlyn took the turn far too fast, and the lights of the oncoming car filled her with sick, sharp fear. She swerved out of the way and slid across the road, fighting to get the car back in the proper lane. The honk echoed in her ears as the smell of burning rubber permeated her senses. She slowed, gained control and turned to look back. The car she had almost hit was a light on the other side of the curve, the SUV pulled up at a crazy angle on the soft interior shoulder of the road.

Caitlyn stopped the car and waited. The lights of the SUV went off, and she felt the fear in her stomach begin to claw its way up her throat. With a great lurch forward and a spin of its tires that flung up water, pebbles and muck, it pulled off of the soft shoulder, did a U-turn and headed off in the other direction. Already coming around the bend was the other driver, a man in a beige down coat, hat pulled over his ears. He leapt to the side, pressed against the wooden guardrail and shook his fist at the passing car.

She sunk back in the leather seat, the pounding of her heart slowing, the breathing she had forgotten about coming back to her. The man trotted up to her. It was Bernie England, a man who owned beagles that were forever making messes on the beaches.

He pounded on the window, and she rolled it down.

“Are you okay?” His voice was not filled with concern, his lined face twisted with anger. “You almost killed me,” he continued, having decided that she was alive and therefore well enough to be subjected to a tirade.

“I’m sorry, Bernie, but I thought… that person was tailgating me and making me go fast and then, I don’t know.” Caitlyn shrugged.

She didn’t really know, not exactly, what had happened, but she knew that she had been followed.

Bernie softened a bit. “You never were a very good driver.”

Caitlyn let that one pass.

“You should call the police,” he told her.

“Did you see a license plate?” she asked.

Bernie shook his head, his thick eyebrows knitting together. “No. Too dark. The man forgot to put his lights on.”

The man hadn’t forgotten, Caitlyn thought. The car had turned its lights off after leaving the side of the road. The more difficult to identify it, Caitlyn thought, and then shook her head. Why on earth would anyone follow her? And then, unbidden, came a single thought that made her shiver. Peter Flynn and Maxwell. They were both dead.

<<>>

She did go home, ignoring Bernie’s protests to come over for a hot drink. He followed her home, and for that, she was grateful. He walked her to the door and took her measure before he said goodnight. The wind rustled softly in the trees, the rain stopped again, a clearing in the clouds breaking up in the north, the silver sliver of the moon, a star, a planet, the smell of the water rising up.

This was her home now. Good, bad, terrible, all the things that had happened. You couldn’t quite go back. What had she been expecting to find? The idyll of her childhood, summer days spent swimming and sailing, sunning and playing, before she’d been a teenager, before things had become complicated, before she had noticed all that went on around her. Thwarted love, thwarted ambition, unhappiness. And now her mother was living in New Mexico with a man she claimed to love and, what was more, was happy with.

Caitlyn did not want to go away again. She wanted to stay right here. Perhaps working for the Randall Company had been a bad idea. She had other choices; she could do something else. It wasn’t hers, never had been. But this was, she thought, looking at the wide-bodied house, gray-shingled with a porch wrapping around and dark, silent windows. This was hers, Queensbay was hers, and that was what was important. And Noah, was he hers?

She didn’t know that answer, she thought. But there were still many questions. She busied herself, taking a bath, fixing a drink, opening up her computer, typing up everything she knew so far. She drew her drapes, shutting out the night, locking the outside out, something she rarely did. There was a message from Noah to call him, but it was late, and she wasn’t sure what to say to him, at least not yet.

Wrapped in a warm white robe, her hand hovered over the phone, the decision. She would sound crazy, she thought. And that wasn’t the kind of reputation she needed. Caitlyn put the phone down and turned her attention to the computer.