Truth or Dare (19 page)

Ethan studied his notes. “All right, here's what we're going to do. We'll proceed on the assumption that Grant Loring is alive and well and has become a problem for Arcadia because it is a reasonable possibility. But we need to keep in mind that we might be wrong.”

“Do you think we're jumping at shadows?” Zoe asked.

Ethan shrugged. “Maybe.”

Zoe cleared her throat.

Ethan groaned silently. He knew that little sound she made when she was getting ready to tell him something that he did not want to hear.

He eyed her warily. “Now what?”

“I'm not sure what it means,” she said, enunciating each word with great care. “But I think there's something you should know.”

“Don't drag it out,” he muttered. “I can't take the suspense.”

Instead of answering immediately, Zoe exchanged glances with Arcadia. He could not read the private message that passed between them, but there was no mistaking that one had been transmitted and received.

Zoe wrapped her arms around her midsection and looked at him with shadowed, somber eyes. “I felt something in Arcadia's office this afternoon.”

“Zoe.”
Arcadia turned toward her with a startled movement. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“It's a little hard to explain,” Zoe admitted.

Harry looked interested.

“Okay,” Ethan said. “You've got our attention. What did your
intuition
tell you?”

“That's just it,” Zoe whispered. “I'm not sure what it told me. That's why I didn't say anything to you, Arcadia. But I know this much: I felt the same thing in my library at the show house yesterday.”

“Keep talking,” Ethan said evenly.

“It was very faint.” She moved her shoulders in a tight shrug. “Just wispy little traces. But it . . . it really freaked me out for a while because I've only experienced that kind of energy on one other occasion.”

“When was that?” Harry asked.

“One night when I was out wandering the halls at Candle Lake Manor.” She looked directly at Arcadia. “It was coming from a room in H Ward.”

“Oh, shit,” Arcadia said very softly.

Ethan glanced at Harry, who silently shook his head. Evidently this wasn't making any sense to him, either.

He switched his attention back to Zoe and Arcadia. “One of you want to tell us what was so freaky about H Ward?”

“Yeah, we've got inquiring minds,” Harry added.

Zoe drew a deep breath. Ethan could see that she was preparing to take some sort of big plunge.

“You know that Candle Lake Manor is an upscale private
sanatorium,” she said. “It was established as a place where, for a price, rich folks could institutionalize their more awkward relatives, the ones with mental health issues and psychological problems.”

Ethan nodded. “We've got that much. Go on.”

“Well,” Zoe continued. “Hard as it may be to comprehend, it turns out that the very wealthy have their fair share of seriously disturbed family members, too, just like everyone else. H Ward was the wing at Xanadu where those patients were warehoused.”

“ ‘Seriously disturbed,' ” Ethan repeated without inflection. “That doesn't sound good.”

“She's talking about the potentially dangerous patients,” Arcadia explained. “The real crazies, the ones who scared the daylights out of the staff and everyone else.”

“Well, well, what do you know,” Harry muttered. “The rich are not so different, after all. But what about this weird sensation you got in Arcadia's office and your library, Zoe?”

“I'm starting to think that the crazy psychic energy may have been left behind by Lindsey Voyle,” Zoe said.

“Great,” Ethan said. “Just what I needed in this case. The interior designer from hell.”

25

S
ingleton was in his tiny office, staring into the depths of his computer when the door of the shop opened. Bonnie walked in, bringing a few megawatts of the late morning sunshine with her.

“Singleton?”

“Back here.” He tried to ignore the little surge of pleasure that pulsed through him.
Keep cool, man. She sees you as a friend, not a lover. You don't want to screw this up.

He pushed himself back from the computer, took off his glasses and got to his feet “You must be exhausted.” Bonnie came to stand in the narrow doorway. “I understand that Ethan woke you up around three this morning to ask you to start working on this situation involving Arcadia.” She held up a large paper cup bearing the
logo of a Fountain Square espresso bar. “I thought that by now you could use some caffeine.”

“You thought right.” He took the coffee from her, peeled off the lid and took a long swallow. When he was finished, he lowered the cup with a sigh of satisfaction. “Thanks. I needed that. You were right about that three
A
.
M
. call from your brother-in-law. Lucky for him he's a friend as well as an occasional client.”

No point telling her that when he'd picked up the phone and heard Ethan's somber, coolly urgent voice on the other end of the connection, panic had hit him with the force of a hammer in the gut. For a few dazed seconds he'd been afraid that the late night call signaled bad news about Bonnie or one of the boys. In that short space of time his world had started to shatter and collapse around him.

When he'd learned that the threat had nothing to do with Bonnie, Jeff or Theo, he'd been so relieved that he immediately felt a pang of guilt. After all, he liked Arcadia a lot. She was a friend, and the knowledge that she was in danger worried him. But the concern he felt for her was not the same kind of bone-deep fear he knew he would experience if Bonnie or one of the boys was in harm's way.

Face it, Cobb, you've got it bad.

Bonnie removed a plastic container from another paper sack.

He studied it with interest. “What have we here?”

“Tuna fish.”

He took the container from her and opened it with a sense of anticipation. “On rye. My favorite.”

Bonnie chuckled. “You always say that. No matter what I feed you, you always tell me it's your favorite.”

He removed one half of the plump, neatly sliced sandwich and took a bite. “That's because it's the truth.”

She smiled, looking quietly satisfied, and watched him demolish the first half of the sandwich.

“I understand that you and Jeff had a talk,” she said when he paused to drink more coffee.

“Jeff told you about it?”

“He said that you explained to him that he didn't have to worry about remembering exactly what Drew looked like. That no matter what happened he would never forget his father.”

He got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and knew that it had nothing to do with the tuna fish. It was Bonnie's very serious expression and tone that was making him lose his appetite. He wondered if she thought he had overstepped the bounds of friendship when he'd taken it upon himself to have that chat with Jeff.

“Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.” He put down the unfinished portion of the sandwich. “Look, Bonnie, I apologize if I intruded too much into your family's private life.”

“No, please, don't apologize. That's not what I meant at all.” She took a step forward and touched his arm. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm very grateful that you spoke with Jeff. I hadn't realized what was really bothering him this year. I thought maybe he was acting out because he had somehow regressed to the very bad time the first November after we lost Drew. The therapist warned me that could happen.”

He looked down at her hand. Her fingertips rested lightly on his bare skin just below the rolled-up edge of his denim sleeve. He was intensely aware of her standing so close; had to remind himself to breathe.

“It's hard for a boy that age to explain what he's going through,” he said. “Hell, it's hard for a guy to explain himself at any age.”

“I know. You think you know your own children, but like everyone else, they have their private places deep inside. They have thoughts and worries that they feel they can't talk about. It never occurred to me that Jeff was terrified that he would forget his father.”

Alarmed, he closed his big hand over hers without stopping to consider the intimacy of the small gesture. “For God's sake, Bonnie, don't blame yourself because you didn't immediately figure out what was bothering Jeff. I know you think you're supposed to solve all his problems for him, but the truth is, he's starting to grow up and he needs to work some things through in his own way.”

“He's only eight years old.”

“Yeah, but he's on his way to becoming a man, and deep down he knows that. He also knows that he's got some very high standards to meet.”

“Standards?”

“The ones set first by his father and now, by Ethan.”

She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, there was clear understanding in her gaze. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

“Jeff's got a lot to live up to and he's trying. He's starting to wrestle with the important stuff.”

“Dealing with the loss of his father? Yes, I know, but—”

“No,” he interrupted quietly, trying once again to find the right words. “Not just that. See, what Jeff went through this month wasn't just about the loss of his dad. The real struggle he
faced was the fear that if he forgot his father, he would somehow betray you and Ethan, the two adults he loves most in this world.”

She stood very still. “Betrayal is a very big concept for an eight-year-old boy.”

“I know. But the thing is, he's starting to formulate his own private code, the one he'll live by for the rest of his life. Betraying the people he loves is a bad thing and he knows that. So he was scared when he realized that he might be doing exactly that and he didn't know how to stop the process.”

“But he wasn't betraying us.”

“Yeah, but he didn't understand that. He needed to talk to someone who could explain it to him, but that someone had to be a person he couldn't hurt.”

“You.” Bonnie blinked back tears. “I don't know how to thank you, Singleton.”

An uncomfortable tide of heat rose in his face. He realized that he was probably turning red.

“Hey, no big deal,” he said gruffly. “We're friends, remember?”

To his surprise, her expression clouded.

“Right. Friends.” She took her hand out from beneath his fingers and moved back toward the door. “I'd better be on my way. Good luck with the investigation.”

She walked out of the bookshop. When the door closed behind her, the gloomy shadows returned.

 

Ethan listened to the footsteps on the stairs. The heavy tread reverberated down the narrow hall outside his office. A man, he thought. One who was not in a good mood.

He put aside the notes he had made after his discussion with Singleton a half hour before, folded his arms on top of his desk and waited.

The footsteps stopped briefly outside the entrance of Truax Investigations. He got the feeling that whoever stood there was hesitating, maybe having second thoughts about the wisdom of hiring a private investigator.

A smart businessman would get up at this point, open the door and try to look sympathetic and encouraging. But he had his hands full at the moment so he stayed where he was. With luck the prospective client would talk himself out of the meeting.

The door opened.

That figured. Never rains but it pours.

The new arrival walked into the outer office. He was clearly visible in the carefully positioned mirror. Athletically built, square-jawed, clean-cut, sandy-haired. His attire was Arizona resort casual: expensively tailored trousers, polo shirt and loafers. He had the look of a guy who had been captain of the football team in high school. He had probably taken the homecoming queen to the senior prom and talked her out of her panties afterward. In college he would have joined the right fraternity, got himself elected president and dated a lot of busty, blond sorority girls.

Nelson Radnor, president and CEO of the competition, Radnor Security Systems.

Ethan cranked back in his chair and stacked his feet on the corner of his desk. “What can I do for you, Radnor?”

Nelson came to the door of the inner office and looked around
with an expression of sardonic amusement. “Thought your new wife was an interior designer.”

“She is. But I won't let her touch my office.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“A man's got to draw the line somewhere when it comes to decorating. Have a seat.”

Nelson walked into the room. He glanced at the nearest of the two client chairs but made no move to lower himself into it. He went to stand at the window instead.

“I hear you've stolen one of my major accounts.” Nelson watched the street as if he was expecting something interesting to happen down there.

Nope, that's not it, Ethan thought. Nelson did not sound sufficiently pissed.

“For the record,” he said, “I didn't steal the Valdez account. I'm not set up to take over a full-time security management job that big and he knows it. He came to me for a one-time independent audit.”

“Sure. So you're going to complete your independent audit and write up an impressive report that says my people missed something on a background check, right?”

“Is that what happened?”

“Maybe. Or maybe someone we hired who was as pure as the driven snow discovered that he couldn't resist temptation when it came his way in Valdez's shipping room.” Nelson glanced back over his shoulder. His face was oddly drawn and grim. “Whatever, it's going to make Radnor Security look bad.”

“Not for long. The corporate security market is all yours here
in Whispering Springs. Everyone knows that. I'm what you call a niche player.”

“You weren't a niche player in LA.” Nelson's face was unreadable. “You were in the big leagues there. Maybe you've got aspirations here in Whispering Springs.”

“Got a few.” Ethan sank deeper into his chair and eyed the toes of his running shoes propped on the desk. “But they don't involve going head to head with Radnor. I'm after the small stuff, the one-man jobs that need the personal touch. You know as well as I do that you don't even want that end of the market. You're not set up to handle it.”

Radnor turned back to the window. He did not speak for a while. Then he moved his shoulders as if trying to loosen tight muscles.

“Funny you should mention the small jobs that need the personal touch.” He sounded morose but determined. “As it happens, I've got one for you.”

Whatever this was all about, Ethan knew it was not good. He was dealing with enough oncoming trains. The last thing he needed was another one bearing down on him. Train wrecks were messy.

“Thanks for thinking of me,” he said, “but I'm a little busy at the moment.”

“Not like I've got a lot of choice,” Nelson muttered. “I need a niche player. And you're the only one in town.”

“There must be somebody on your staff who can handle it.”

“I don't want anyone on my staff to even know about this job,” Nelson said roughly. “That's why I'm here.”

“Like I said, I appreciate the opportunity, but—”

“I think my wife is having an affair,” Nelson said flatly.

Oh, shit. Out of all the PI offices in this burg, why did you have to walk into mine?
But that was the problem, of course, Ethan thought. There were only two private investigation firms in Whispering Springs.

With great precision, moving as slowly as possible in order to give himself time. He took his feet down off his desk and straightened in his chair.