The Golden Chance (15 page)

Phila smiled. “Marina Del Rey. She had an apartment overlooking the water. All chrome and white leather. Very flashy. Very beautiful.”

“Like Crissie.”

“Yes. Just like Crissie. California was her kind of place. She was a golden girl in a sunny, golden land.”

Hilary put her long-nailed hands into the pockets of her pleated trousers. “She talked about you frequently.”

“Did she?”

Hilary nodded. “She loved you, but she thought you were hopelessly naive about some things.”

Phila laughed and realized it was the first time she had been amused by anything connected with Crissie since the day she'd learned of her death. “We were opposites. I'm sure if we hadn't been thrown together in a foster-home situation we would never have become friends. We had absolutely nothing in common.”

“Maybe it was the fact that you were so different that drew you together. Maybe you needed each other in some ways.”

“Maybe. Whatever it was, Crissie and I didn't question it too much. We were too young for that kind of introspection. We were friends, and that was all that mattered. We knew we could depend on each other.”

“That's why you're here, isn't it? Because you were Crissie's friend and you need to know what happened during those last months with us.” Hilary's voice was soft with understanding. “I'd feel the same way. Perhaps even more so. Because, unlike you, I did have a great deal in common with Crissie.”

“You're as beautiful as she was,” Phila observed.

“I wasn't talking about looks. I meant we had more important things in common. Crissie was a lot like me in some ways.” When Phila gave her a sharp glance of surprise, Hilary smiled indulgently. “It's true, you know. We understood each other. Oh, I had private schooling and holidays abroad while I was growing up, but I didn't have any more love than Crissie did. My parents turned me over to nannies, tutors and boarding schools whenever possible. After they were divorced, I spent most of my time being shuttled from one place to another. I might as well have been raised in an institution.”

“A nicely furnished institution,” Phila said dryly.

“I won't argue that. But the result was the same, I think. Crissie realized that when she got to know me. We used to talk about what we wanted out of life, and it turned out that we both had very similar goals.”

Phila chuckled. “Crissie always said her goal was to use her looks to get so rich she'd never have to worry about anything again as long as she lived. She wanted to be able to live in a big mansion and have lots of people at her beck and call. She wanted to be so powerful no one would ever dare try to hurt her or abuse her again.”

“Umhmmm.”

“Is that your goal?” Phila asked.

“Something very similar, I'm afraid.”

“Would you do anything to achieve that goal?”

Hilary's mouth tightened. “Just about. I refuse to be prized only for my beauty and my background. I was forced to trade on those commodities for too much of my life. First while I was growing up and then in my marriage. From now on people will have to deal with me as a financially independent woman.”

“Maybe you and Crissie did have a lot in common. She was certain money could buy her freedom.”

“She could never understand why you chose to go into social work, you know. She said it was stupid and that you'd never last. You'd burn out, she said. You weren't hard enough for that kind of thing.”

“She was right,” Phila admitted. “I resigned my job a few weeks ago. I don't plan to ever go back into that field again.”

“Crissie was shrewd when it came to knowing what made people tick. She could manipulate them.”

“She had to learn how or she would never have survived her childhood,” Phila explained.

“She certainly enjoyed herself pushing the families' buttons while she was around us. She used to think of it as a game. I was the only one she never played games with.”

Phila wondered about that. “You do seem to be the only one who has anything kind to say about her.”

“I told you, I liked her. Reed said something this morning at breakfast about your feeling the families bear some responsibility for Crissie's death. Is that true?”

“I don't know, Hilary,” Phila said quietly. “I honestly don't know. I need to think about it, though, before I decide what to do with the shares.”

Hilary nodded, as if in understanding. “I would just like to caution you about one thing. Don't get the idea that because Nick was not physically present during those last months when Crissie was here that he's somehow more trustworthy or innocent than any of the rest of us. Nick wouldn't be here now if he weren't working some angle.”

“But he was estranged from the families during the time Crissie was involved with them.”

“I've known Nick Lightfoot a long time, Phila. He's a very dangerous man. Be careful.”

“Sure.”

“Keep something else in mind about Nick. His reasoning processes don't always follow a normal, predictable pattern. He's hard to read, and his motives can be very obscure. Think about that if he tries to talk you into giving her shares to him instead of back to Darren.”

Phila became lightheaded for an instant. She took a deep breath, and the world righted itself. “He's said nothing about having me turn the shares over to him.”

“But he does plan to get the shares back into family hands. He told Reed that much last night.”

“He told me the same thing. He was very up-front about it.”

“Nick is at his most dangerous when he looks you right in the eye and tells you what he's going to do.” Hilary paused for a moment, then asked, “What are you going to do, Phila?”

“I don't know,” Phila answered honestly.

Hilary drew a deep breath. “I'd like to make you an offer for those shares.”

Phila turned her head to look at Hilary's beautiful profile. “You want to buy them from me?”

“I'll give you an excellent price for them. More than enough cash to keep you from having to go back into social work. I'll give you what I would have given Crissie.”

“Crissie was going to sell the shares to you?”

“Crissie wanted me to have those shares. But she was practical. She needed financial security,” Hilary said. “I understood that. I was going to make sure she got it in exchange for the shares.”

“I see.”

“By the way,” Hilary said easily, “I have an invitation to extend to you from Eleanor. She would like to have you join us for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“A family affair?” Phila asked wryly.

Hilary smiled, showing perfect teeth. “Precisely. A family affair.” She turned to walk back along the beach, pausing to say over her shoulder, “Think about my offer, Phila.”

Port Claxton was a picturesque mixture of old Victorian homes, white picket fences and weathered seaside cottages. The small marina with its collection of sailing boats, fishing vessels and cruisers was the heart of the community.

Port Clax, as the locals called it, was typical of Washington's seaside towns in that it hibernated during the winter months and got rudely jolted wide awake during the summer when the tourists and vacationers descended on it.

But even at the peak of the season, it was still possible to park right in front of the entrance of either of the two small grocery stores. Phila chose the one at the north end of town.

Inside she went quickly down the short aisles, selecting salad makings, bread, cheese and other essentials. When she came to the wine shelves she remembered Nick going through her cupboards the previous night looking for something to drink. She picked up a bottle of northwest Cabernet Sauvignon, telling herself it was for her, not uninvited midnight visitors. When she got to the checkout counter a young man with curly blond hair and a shy smile greeted her.

“Hey, didn't I see you at the big Fourth of July party yesterday? You were with Nick Lightfoot, weren't you? You a new member of the family?”

“No. I am definitely not a new member of the family.” Phila softened the curt response with a smile.

“Just wondered. Lotta folks did. Haven't seen Nick around for a long time. Thought when he showed up with you he might be bringing home a new wife or something.”

“I take it the folks here in Port Claxton keep close tabs on the Castletons and Lightfoots?”

The young man grinned. “Sure do. Guess it's kind of a local pastime. They're big wheels around here. We've had Castletons and Lightfoots in this town since before I was born. My mom remembers when Reed and Burke built those fancy places out there near the beach. She always liked Reed's first wife, she said. A real down-to-earth person. Kind of looked after things here in town, Mom says.”

“Looked after things?”

“You know what I mean. While Nora Lightfoot was alive, the Castletons and Lightfoots did lots of things for the town. Got a nice park built out by the marina. Got a theater group going. Gave a lot of money to local charities. Helped folks out when they needed it. Real nice lady, my mom says.”

Phila was intrigued. “Don't the Castletons and Lightfoots still help out locally?”

“Well, when Nick Lightfoot was around we did get some new equipment for the hospital, I think, and there used to be a scholarship fund for local kids who went on to college. He kept that up for a while after the first Mrs. Lightfoot died. But it's different now.”

“How are things different?”

“Don't get me wrong. The Castletons and the Lightfoots still make some local contributions occasionally, but it's not like in the old days. My dad says Eleanor Castleton and the others think people should stand on their own feet and not get used to handouts. Says it makes folks dependent.”

“I can see how that philosophy would suit them.”

“The Castletons and Lightfoots still put on one heck of a Fourth of July picnic, though, I'll say that for 'em. Everybody around here really looks forward to it. Sort of a local tradition.”

“I take it people in town enjoy gossiping about them, too?”

The young man flushed. “I guess so.” He brightened. “Way things are going, according to my dad, we may be voting for a Castleton for governor one of these days. Everyone says Darren's getting set to go into politics in a big way. Wouldn't that be somethin'?”

“Would everyone in town vote for him if he ran?”

“Are you kiddin'? Like a shot. He's one of us.” The young man beamed with pride.

“Amazing,” Phila muttered, picking up her bag of groceries. “You do realize that the Castleton and Lightfoot fortunes are founded on machines used for military purposes? That if Darren Caslteton got into public office he would probably hold extremely right-wing, militaristic views due to his background and family business? If he ever went into national office he would undoubtedly vote to increase the defense budget every chance he got.”

The clerk gave her a puzzled look. “Castletons and Lightfoots are real patriotic. Proud to be Americans. They got a way of making everyone else proud of it, too.”

“I give up.” Phila headed for the door with her groceries.

The storm finally hit the coast later that evening. Phila closed the windows of her little house when the rain began pouring down. It was all very cozy, she told herself as she cleaned up after a simple dinner of soup and salad. She wondered what everyone was doing up at the family mansions. She had seen no sign of a Castleton or a Lightfoot all afternoon.

When she had washed the last of the small stack of dirty dishes she wandered into the living room and stood at the front window. For a while she toyed with the notion of going down to the beach in the storm. It would be a good place to think.

Lord knew, she needed to do some thinking.

She was going to have to make a decision about what to do with the shares by the date of the annual meeting of Castleton & Lightfoot. If she opted to keep them and vote them, she was going to be fighting an open war with the families, a war she could not win.

She did not own enough shares to outvote them on critical issues. All she could accomplish was to be a gadfly, a troublemaker in their midst. She would always be an outsider, just as Crissie had been.

But it seemed wrong just to return those shares to the families. They constituted Crissie's inheritance; the inheritance she had always fantasized would one day be hers. Any kind of inheritance meant a lot when you had grown up in foster homes. It symoblized something important, a sense of belonging, a sense of being part of a family, of having a place in the world.

But Crissie was dead and the inheritance was now hers, Phila reminded herself.

And soon she would have to make a decision.

Thunder partially masked the first knock on the front door, but Phila heard the second quite clearly. She recognized the blunt summons at once and gave serious thought to not answering. But she knew that would be a waste of time.

She went to the door and found Nick on the step. His dark hair was wet, and the black windbreaker he wore was soaked. His gray eyes gleamed as they moved over her.

“Do me a favor and don't go for the gun yet, okay? I've had a hard evening.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” Phila stepped back reluctantly, unable to think of a way to keep him out and not really certain she wanted to achieve that goal, anyway. “It's your family.”