Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Charmed

Charmed
Leona Karr


STIRRING UP THE PAST…After her sister was attacked and left for dead, Ashley Davis traveled to the remote Greystone Island in search of answers. But identifying her sister's assailant while on the imposing and mysterious Langdon estate seemed impossible–especially when she sensed a sinister force lurking in the shadows.COULD GET HER KILLEDNow the only way to uncover the truth–and stay alive–was to join forces with Brad Taylor, the island's mysterious police officer. But forging this unlikely union with the one man who made her pulse race seemed even more frightening than the long-buried secrets of the past that were about to resurface….









Bits and pieces of the truth hit her with dynamic revelation.


Ashley’s thoughts whirled like an off-center gyroscope. Too late she sensed a presence behind her.

Before she could move, a strong arm came around her and pinned her back in the chair. She glimpsed her attacker’s face as a needle plunged into her neck.

“No…no…please, no!” Her cries echoed in her ears as her body disintegrated into a thousand floating pieces.

Brad’s face came into her mind and the thought that she might never see him again made her cry out again.

And then her world went black.




Charmed

Leona Karr







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In appreciation to Carol McNulty.

Many thanks for sharing such

wonderful background material.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


A native of Colorado, Leona (Lee) Karr is the author of nearly forty books. Her favorite genres are romantic suspense and inspirational romance. Graduating from the University of Colorado with a B.A. and the University of Northern Colorado with an M.A., she taught as a reading specialist until her first book was published in 1980. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and nominated by Romantic Times BOOKclub as Best Romantic Saga and Best Gothic Author. She has been honored as the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer of the Year, and received Colorado’s Romance Writer of the Year award. Her books have been reprinted in more than a dozen foreign countries. She is a presenter at numerous writing conferences and has taught college courses in creative writing.




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Ashley Davis—She came to Greystone Island because her sister’s life was in jeopardy. Did the same hidden menace wait in the foggy mists for her?

Brad Taylor—As sheriff on Greystone Island, he had to solve the mysteries of the past before he could bring a hidden murderer to justice.

Lorrie Davis—Ashley’s sister’s disappearance sparked a manhunt and reawakened the past.

Clayton Langdon—His wealth dominated his family and their island estate. What secrets haunted the Langdon mansion?

Jonathan Langdon—What was the oldest Langdon son’s role in his family’s web of violence and mystery?

Sloane—An island drifter. Was his obsession with Lorrie strong enough to hurt her and leave her for dead?

Dr. Hadley—As a close friend of the Langdons’ and the island’s only medical expert, what secrets did he have to hide?

Samantha Langdon—Did her guarded secrets set a lingering evil in motion?

Pamela Langdon—Was she the catalyst for all that happened?




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


Night shadows had already fallen when Ashley Davis’s taxi reached the rugged coastline of Portland, Maine. Wisps of fog floated over choppy gray water, and a blanket of heavy, dark clouds heralded the approach of an Atlantic storm.

“You’ll have to wait until morning for a ferry or hired boat,” the driver briskly informed her as he opened the door and set down her single suitcase. “You won’t be finding any transportation to Greystone Island this time of night.”

“I have to,” Ashley answered flatly as she handed him the fare.

As he drove off, Ashley slung the strap of her alligator purse over her shoulder and picked up her suitcase. Shivering in her lightweight beige knit jacket and slacks, she realized her San Francisco wardrobe wasn’t going to be suitable for Maine weather, even in early September. She hadn’t even considered something as mundane as the weather after she’d received the telephone call from Portland late that morning.

She had been stunned when a female police officer had informed her that her sister, Lorrie, had disappeared while working on an island off the coast of Maine.

“Some of her belongings were found at the top of a steep cliff about midday, and one of her shoes on the rocky beach below.” The officer added that the authorities were speculating the young woman had fallen or jumped into the rough current, and that her body had been swept out to sea.

Ashley was stunned. “No, I don’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry. We’ll let you know about any further developments.”

Not Lorrie! She’d gone to Greystone Island to catalogue some vintage clothing being offered for auction by a wealthy family who owned an estate on the Atlantic side of the island. The Langdons’ island property had belonged to the illustrious family since the late 1800s, and they had decided to release a collection of vintage clothing accumulated over several generations.

Lorrie had called from New York, all excited. “I’ve been hired by a prominent New York auction house to make an inventory and pack the collection for shipment.” She’d sounded enthusiastic and confident about the assignment.

During the week she’d been on the island, Lorrie had called Ashley several times with glowing reports about how well the inventory was going.

She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t!

They’d always been very close, raised by a widowed mother who provided for her two daughters by working as a seamstress in one of the fashionable New York designer houses. Both girls had grown up with a heightened sense of fashion and color, and both had attended a Manhattan design school. After their mother’s death, Ashley had left New York and started a successful business, Hollywood Boutique, specializing in original beaded bags, coin purses, and accessories. Now at age thirty, she employed three women full-time and was kept busy creating intricate beaded designs that bore her trademark. Lorrie had stayed in the New York area, working freelance for museums and auction houses offering vintage apparel.

Now she’s missing! Presumed dead!

Ashley had left her shop in the hands of a trusted employee, Kate Delawny, and secured a seat on the first available flight. She had endured several hours of layovers in connecting flights across the country. A sense of disbelief had traveled with her every minute of the journey as she tried to absorb the shock.

Now she stood shivering in the foggy night air. Her ears were filled with the sound of the pounding surf lashing the wharf. Anchored boats in a marina tugged at bowlines like captured animals struggling to get free from their chains. Lights in a nearby parking lot did little to illuminate the empty ferry station or the dark harbor-master’s small building with its posted sign for the next day’s public transportation. The bay was dotted with numerous crafts looking like ghostly specters on the black surf. There were signs advertising daily water trips—all daytime hours.

Bracing herself against the wind, Ashley walked slowly out on the long pier. She was prepared to pay the price for any kind of transportation. Small fishing boats and larger cruisers tugged their moorings, and pier boards creaked under her feet. She searched anxiously to find someone aboard one of the boats who would respond to her urgent need.

“Hello. Hello. Anybody?” Her voice was driven back down her throat by the wind. Shivering in the clinging moist fog circulating around her, she brushed her dark brown hair away from her eyes as she peered into the mist. She knew that Greystone Island was one of numerous islands lying out there somewhere in the darkness.

I have to get there somehow!

Turning around and bending her head against the wind, she made her way back to where the taxi had left her. A collection of low structures, all dark and deserted, stretched along the water’s edge. A strong odor identified them as fish houses. A few neon lights blinked where several weathered buildings clustered together, set back from the waterfront. Bracing herself against the wind, she hurried in that direction.

A renovated warehouse with a swinging sign outside the door identified the place as the Dockside Bar and Grill. Signs in the nautical-shaped windows promised food, drink and music.

Without hesitation, Ashley hurried inside.

A huge, high-ceilinged room was crowded with people, and a pungent mix of smoke, liquor and sweat instantly assaulted her nostrils.

Loud voices and a couple of strumming guitars blasted her ears. A group of men in work clothes crowded around the bar, laughing and draining their mugs as if all the beer kegs were going to run out soon. A few women sat at tables, smiling and drinking as heartily as their companions.

When no hostess appeared to greet her, Ashley made her way to the first empty booth. She was grateful for the warmth as a bone-deep chill began to ease. Putting her small suitcase on the seat opposite her, she quickly took off her damp jacket and rubbed her arms to restore some circulation. She was thankful that her tailored blouse was still dry, and the pair of casual soft leather loafers had kept her feet from getting chilled.

A blond waitress wearing tight nautical pants and a brief halter suddenly appeared, her pencil poised above her pad. “What’s your poison?”

“Coffee,” Ashley responded readily.

“Spiked?”

“No. Just black.”

“Okay, but you look as cold as a mackerel on ice.” The waitress was middle-aged, overweight, and showed that her feet hurt by the way she stood. Glancing at the suitcase Ashley had placed on the vacant seat, she said, “I’d have me a little warm-me-upper if I was you.”

Ashley shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Even though she needed some help getting through this nightmare, liquor wasn’t the answer. She had to keep focused. No telling what news awaited her on the island.

The waitress shrugged and disappeared into a crowd that was growing every minute. Waiters and waitresses darted about with trays of drinks held above their heads to avoid the crush of customers pressing in on them. Ashley was beginning to think she’d never see her waitress again when she finally brought the coffee.

Ashley thanked her and then asked, “I wonder if you could help me? I need to get to Greystone Island as soon as possible…tonight. It’s—it’s a family emergency. Do you know anyone who I might hire to take me over?”

“The weather report don’t look good,” she answered, frowning. “Something’s blowing in.”

“I know, but, surely, one of these men would like to make some easy money,” Ashley insisted. “I’ll gladly pay extra.”

“I don’t know. It’s about a forty-five-minute run out to Greystone in good weather. On a night like this…?” She shrugged.

“Please, it’s very important.”

“It must be,” she said as she studied Ashley’s pained expression. Then she turned and looked over the men at the bar.

Ashley held her breath.

“Jenkins might do it,” she said after a long search. “He’s always up for getting his hands on a little more beer money.”

“Will you ask him, please?” Ashley’s heartbeat quickened.

“Okay, but I still think you’d do better to wait ’til morning.” She turned and Ashley watched her make her way across the crowded room to the long bar.

She tapped a burly-looking man on the shoulder. Ashley couldn’t see his face clearly under the duck bill of his hat as he turned around and listened to what the waitress was saying. Then he looked across the room to where Ashley was sitting. When she saw him nod and the waitress smile, a wave of relief almost made Ashley giddy.

He’s going to do it!

Without hesitation, she agreed to pay the amount he asked after the man had shuffled over. Jenkins had thick shoulders and a ruddy face. He led the way down the wharf to an old motorboat which was probably used to take men out to their fishing crafts.

A dank, fishy smell permeated the air as she stepped down into it. She took the bench seat near the stern, and placed her suitcase at her feet while Jenkins sat on a forward bench, his back to her as he hunched over the motor.

The wind and fog had increased during the few minutes she’d been in the café. Ashley’s uneasiness intensified. She debated asking him about a life jacket, but was afraid anything she said to the man might stop him from taking her out to the island.

He threw off the bowline and started swearing when he had trouble starting the motor. The boat began to rock in the choppy water. She couldn’t have climbed out if she’d wanted to because the boat was already floating away from the pier.

Maybe the boat isn’t even seaworthy!

As the boat swayed in the rising waves and deepening troughs, its old timbers began to groan. When the motor finally caught and the boat lurched forward, Jenkins’ slurred muttering and colorful swearing added to the sickening plunge of Ashley’s stomach.

Too late, she realized the boatman was drunk!

“Turn back!” she yelled, but her words were driven back in her throat and Jenkins didn’t even turn around.

As the motorboat sped forward, dark clouds blanketed the moon and stars, and the mainland was quickly lost from view. Short, choppy waves and buffeting northwestern winds seemed strong enough to capsize the creaking boat.

The mournful tolling of a buoy came closer in the rolling fog. Could he see where they were going? Would they pass Greystone Island in the fog? Fleeting glimpses of scattered watery lights appeared from time to time. Then darkness again. Were they passing all the islands dotting the waters off the coast of Maine and blindly plunging out into the rough Atlantic Ocean?

The nightmare was never-ending. Ashley’s stomach took a sickening dip every time the boat fell into a deep trough in the sucking water.

When the throbbing vibrations of the boat beneath her feet began to lessen, she clutched the side of the tossing boat, fearing the motor had given out and that they soon would be adrift in the darkness and fog.

Jenkins suddenly gave a jubilant shout, as though surprised by his own navigation. “There she be! Greystone Cove. Pretty as you please.”

Thank God, she thought as watery lights ahead grew brighter and the movement of the boat slowed. Her relief was shattered an instant later.

Jenkins misjudged the landing completely. He hit the pier with a jolt that landed Ashley in the bottom of the drenched boat. Her suitcase and shoulder purse tumbled on top of her.

A man with a deep voice shouted, “You blasted fool, Jenkins. What in blazes are you thinking? Nobody with brains worth two cents would make a crossing in this weather.”

Jenkins mumbled something.

The stranger approached the boat and offered a pair of firm hands to help Ashley out of the boat. At the same time, he demanded, “Are you crazy? Hiring a drunken fool to bring you out to the island at night and in this weather?”

She stiffened her shivering shoulders as she glared back at him. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You must be reckless—or stupid. You’re damn lucky to be on solid ground. I’ve got a heater in the car.” He picked up her suitcase and started down the pier.

She didn’t move. She was not going anywhere with this stranger. He was a tall, well-built man, wearing jeans, a knit pullover, a windbreaker and no hat. In the shadowy light, she guessed he was probably in his thirties. He might not be drunk like Jenkins, but he presented another kind of threat.

When she didn’t follow, he turned around. “Are you going to stand there shivering all night?”

“Who are you?” she demanded without moving an inch.

Jenkins snickered. “He’s a big shot.”

“That’ll be enough out of you, Jenkins,” he said as he walked back to Ashley. “I was just trying to get you out of this weather before the storm breaks, but I should have introduced myself. Brad Taylor, police officer.”

“You’re a policeman? Where’s your uniform?” she demanded. Big-city skepticism instantly flared.

“I’m off duty.”

“He’s a big shot around here,” Jenkins repeated. “Likes to throw his weight around.”

Ashley felt an instant rush of relief. She quickly introduced herself. “Please take me to the police department. My name is Ashley Davis. I need to know what’s being done to find my sister.”

“My apologies. I didn’t realize your urgency.” As increasing blasts of wind and rain whipped the water, he said, “Let’s get in the police cruiser and I’ll explain the situation.”

“What about me?” Jenkins asked, following them. “Where’s my pay?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Ashley quickly drew her wallet out of the shoulder purse and gave him the agreed-upon amount.

“Thank ye.” Clutching the bills, he sauntered off, obviously heading for a well-lighted bar near the wharf.

“He’s already drunk,” Ashley said. “I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

“You’re damn lucky. We’ve lost a lot better pilots than him in rough waters like this.” He guided her to a police car parked close to the pier. He told her there were only a few cars on the island because they had to be brought in by hired transport. The ferries were passengers only. As he slipped into the driver’s seat beside her, she could see shaggy, reddish-brown hair that framed well-defined cheekbones, a strong chin, and an expressive mouth. He was probably darned attractive in a uniform, but there was a sexy toughness about him that was disturbing. Should she ask to see his badge? What if he had an agenda of his own for offering her his help?

“Do you often patrol the wharf at night?”

“No, I just happened to be down at the wharf when I saw Jenkins ram the boat into the pier,” he said as he started the car.

“Has there been any news of my sister?”

He shook his head.

Anxiety made her voice strained. “I want to talk to someone in charge.”

“I guess that would be me.”

She must have misunderstood. “What?”

“I’m the only law officer on the island.”

“No, that can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it is,” he replied firmly. “Greystone Island has a year-round population of only a few hundred people. Granted, in the summer months it doubles, but for the most part, the demands for law enforcement are slight. I can handle it by myself and with my one deputy. But the fact is—”

“That you’re not qualified to handle anything serious,” she finished in a strained voice. She couldn’t believe it! Her sister was missing and there wasn’t any qualified police force looking for her.

“You’re quick to assume the worst, aren’t you?” he replied as his dark brown eyes appraised her.

“I don’t hide from the truth in any situation.” Her lips trembled. “Not even one as devastating as this one.”

“I see.” His jaw tightened. “Well, I was about to assure you that I have over ten years of experience as a police investigator for the state of Maine. I’ve handled almost every kind of crime you want to mention, and I came to Greystone Island a couple of years ago as the resident police officer.”

“Why?” Her tone clearly inferred there must have been some impropriety involved in the change of assignment.

“I was raised on the island and for personal reasons wanted to come back,” he answered curtly.

“I see.” But she didn’t. She was too much of a city girl to imagine living on a tiny island that was hardly more than a speck in the ocean.

His jaw tightened. “I’ve handled your sister’s disappearance as I would any case, here or on the mainland. A hunting party was organized to scour the island, radio announcements were transmitted to boats coming and going from the island. My deputy and I circled the island in our patrol boat, but in the enveloping fog and thickening storm clouds, visibility was poor.”

“But it’s been hours since she disappeared!” Ashley protested.

“I had to call off the search ’til morning,” he said firmly.

“Someone must have seen her leave the house.”

“Apparently she went for a walk right after breakfast. A fisherman’s wife who brings fresh produce up to the Langdon kitchen came upon some of her things at the edge of a steep drop-off and saw one of her shoes at the bottom of the cliff. I was immediately notified and began the search.” He backed the car away from the pier and headed along a road leading away from the water.

“I’ve questioned the hired staff: a housekeeper, a male Asian cook who doesn’t speak much English and an all-round housemaid. The rest of the help is hired on a needs basis.”

“Yes, Lorrie told me a little bit about it.”

“Apparently your sister sometimes took meals with the family, and sometimes she didn’t. On occasion, she’d walk down to the Wharf Café for breakfast or lunch, and sometimes had dinner at the Chowder House. After a few days, the household paid little attention to her coming and going. We’re fortunate to have discovered her disappearance as soon as we did.”

Not soon enough. She bit her lip to keep back the sharp retort.

“I assume you’ll want to stay with the Langdons.”

Ashley nodded. “If they’ll agree to it.” They would know whether or not Officer Taylor was as capable and well-trained as he presented himself to be. She didn’t know how to justify her feelings, but she felt more should have been done in the hours her sister had been missing.

“Do you know the Langdons well?” she asked in an even tone as if she’d accepted his explanations.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by know. Of course, everyone on the island knows them, but mostly by name and reputation. When I was a teenager, I attended some annual celebrations they sponsored on the lawns of their property, but since my return over a year ago, I haven’t had the occasion to be in their company. Until now, with the investigation.”

“They stay on the island year round?”

“No. In the summer there’s a parade of wealthy visitors who rent the summer cottages on the southwestern high cliffs, but after Labor Day they are mostly deserted. Usually the Langdons have left by this time, but for some reason, the elder Clayton Langdon is staying longer than usual.”

“My sister told me that his son, Jonathan, is really in charge. Lorrie said he wasn’t very friendly. All business.”

“I can believe that. Jonathan is fifty and he’s been taking over the reins of the family’s finances for several years now. His father, Clayton, is a widower in his late seventies. The only woman relative in the house is Ellen Brenden, Jonathan Langdon’s late wife’s sister, and she’s about Jonathan’s age.”

“There isn’t any Mrs. Jonathan Langdon?”

“No. Jonathan’s late wife, Samantha, was killed in an automobile accident some twenty-five years ago. She left a baby girl only a few months old. Raised without a mother, Pamela Langdon grew up spoiled and she died from a drug overdose two years ago, shortly before I came back to the island. She was only twenty-three. Pamela’s death was hard on her father and her grandfather.”

“I can imagine.” Ashley suppressed a shiver. What a tragic family. What kind of ill fate had drawn her sister into it?

As they headed for the Langdon house, the car windows grew foggy, and a narrow dirt road plunged into the darkness of thick trees and huge granite boulders. The pitch of the car told Ashley they were climbing at a steep angle.

The headlights swept across jagged rocks, and spumes of white foam rose in the air. She could tell they were skirting the edge of a steep shoreline. Her nails bit into the palms of her hands as the sound of pounding surf grew louder and louder. A sudden deluge of raindrops splattered in a mesmerizing pattern on the windshield as strong winds whipped them against the car.

“How far is it?” she asked in a strained voice.

“Within walking distance of the wharf,” he assured her. “But not on a night like this. The Langdon house sits on the highest point at the southwestern tip of the island. There’s a great view when the weather’s clear, but its location makes it vulnerable to wind, rain and fierce winters.”

Ashley sat rigidly in the seat, staring straight ahead. Lorrie…Lorrie.

“Tell me, what exactly was your sister doing for the Langdons?” he asked, which surprised her. Surely he’d been informed of her assignment at the house. She had the feeling he was just trying to keep her mind occupied.

Briefly, she explained the Langdon family’s decision to auction some of the vintage clothing that had been collected since the turn of the century.

“A lot of money involved?” he prodded in a slightly skeptical tone.

“A handmade gown by a noted designer can bring as much as a hundred thousand dollars.”

He let out a slow whistle.

“Private collectors, dealers and museums are always on the lookout for the kind of vintage clothing that the Langdons have decided to put on the market. Prices have shot up eighty percent in the last five years. There’s a charm about antique clothing and jewelry. Lorrie was excited that she was the one chosen to catalog everything.” Ashley’s voice broke as she remembered how happy her sister had been when the assignment had been confirmed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, I promise.”

They both fell silent.

A few minutes later, he swung the car in a half circle and parked at the side of a sprawling, three-story structure that seemed to be balanced precariously on high ground facing the rocky Atlantic shoreline below. All the windows were dark except for a couple on the main floor. The roar of the crashing surf was like a greedy monster lashing at the land with a crazed fury.

“This is known as the Langdon compound,” he explained as he hurriedly guided her along a walk to the front of a white mansion. “There are several outbuildings and a private dock below the mansion.”

She straightened her shoulders and brushed damp bangs back from her forehead as they mounted wide steps to a pair of carved doors. She had never felt more unkempt and had never cared less!

“Be careful,” he said as he rang the doorbell.

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Watch yourself. There’s a pattern of violence in the Langdon family.” His tone was hard as the granite rocks strewn along the beach. “Tragedy seems to follow anyone who unwittingly gets snared in their web.”




Chapter Two


The front door was opened by a tall, angular woman with gray hair pulled back in a tight knot. She wore a shapeless dark dress that accented her beanpole figure. As she admitted them into the entrance hall, her sharp glance went to their wet shoes; she looked as if she might order them to take the sodden footwear off before allowing them any farther into the house.

“Evening, Mrs. Mertz,” Brad said, nodding. He’d met the widowed housekeeper earlier when interviewing the family after Lorrie’s disappearance. The austere woman had answered his questions curtly, maintaining she hadn’t even been aware of Lorrie Davis leaving the house. Edith Mertz’s attitude had given him the impression that she hadn’t thought the comings and goings of the young woman were worthy of her attention.

“Will you inform the family that Ashley Davis, sister of the missing woman, has just arrived from California.” Brad’s tone made it sound more like an order than request.

“They’re in the family sitting room,” she replied curtly. “Understandably upset. I certainly hope you will clear this up quickly, Officer. The entire household has been distressed by this unfortunate event.” Her tone clearly indicated she thought the island’s poor police protection was to blame. “Follow me, Miss Davis.”

As she turned away, Ashley shot him a questioning look. Despite all her bravado, he could tell she was looking for his support.

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes, please.”

He had decided to leave her suitcase in the car until they knew what kind of reception she was going to get. Clearly accepting guests in their home, unless they were personally invited, was not the norm for a prestigious family like the Langdons; they might expect Ashley Davis to find accommodations elsewhere. Unfortunately, seaside cottages were already closed for the season and only a couple of questionable boarding houses took in transient year-round visitors.

He boldly put a guiding hand on her arm as they followed the housekeeper across a wide foyer. They went past a curved staircase mounted against one wall and then down a hall paneled in dark walnut.

They had passed several closed doors when they met a man, wearing a raincoat and carrying a medical bag, coming toward them.

Brad nodded in recognition of the island’s doctor. “Evening, Dr. Hadley.”

He was a tall, nice-looking man in his late forties, with graying dark hair and a well-toned body that matched his alert expression. The doctor was Clayton Langdon’s private physician, and he handled only routine medical cases that arose on the island. All others he sent to the mainland either by boat or arranged a helicopter pickup at the school playing field. A makeshift ambulance van was kept in the garage of the doctor’s home office.

“How is he, Doctor?” Mrs. Mertz demanded in her usual curt manner. “We hated calling you out on a night like this but—”

“No problem,” Dr. Hadley quickly assured her. “Clayton is less agitated now, and I left something for a good night’s sleep when he’s ready to retire.” He nodded at Brad. “Evening, Officer. Any new developments?”

“’Fraid not.”

The doctor glanced at Ashley. “My goodness, young lady, you look chilled to the bone. You’d better get into some dry clothes and have something hot to drink. We don’t need another patient in the house.”

“No, we certainly don’t,” Edith Mertz echoed with pursed lips as if Ashley were bringing some kind of sickness into the house.

“From the sound of that wind, we’re in for a night of it.” He gave them a brisk nod and continued down the hall toward the front door.

Mrs. Mertz led them deeper into the house and then turned into a brightly lit sitting room warmed by blazing logs in a large fireplace.

Three people sat in chairs near the fire. Brad kept his hand on Ashley’s arm as they moved toward them. An elderly Clayton Langdon squinted at them, and his fifty-year-old son, Jonathan, frowned at the intrusion. A slightly built woman, somewhat younger than the men, rose to her feet with the habitual response of a hostess to unexpected guests.

She was Ellen Brenden, the sister of Jonathan’s late wife, Samantha, who had been killed in that automobile accident on the mainland nearly twenty-five years ago. Now in her forties, Ellen had become a fixture in the Langdon’s household.

Brad liked her. Ellen was a spry and energetic woman with dishwater brown hair cut short around a full face. She wore a colorful, trendy outfit designed for a younger woman. Living with the Langdon family afforded her a comfortable lifestyle, but Brad thought that meeting the demands of the two Langdon men couldn’t be an easy row to hoe.

“This is Ashley Davis, the dead girl’s sister,” Mrs. Mertz announced in her abrasive manner.

“Missing sister,” Brad loudly corrected her.

“Oh, yes, of course…missing,” Ellen Brenden stammered as if trying to rectify the housekeeper’s embarrassing error.

Brad guided Ashley across the room to where Clayton Langdon and Jonathan were sitting. “Miss Davis flew in from California this evening in response to her sister’s disappearance,” he told them briskly.

Jonathan had quickly risen to his feet. He was a man of medium height and weight, slightly round-shouldered, with a furrowed brow which seemed to reflect heavy responsibilities. As acting head of the family, he looked older than fifty.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Davis.” He offered his hand. “I regret the unhappy circumstances,” he added in an apologetic tone.

“Damned confounding! That’s what it is,” bellowed the seventy-nine-year-old Clayton. As he fastened wrinkle-lidded eyes on Ashley, he clamped his sagging mouth shut and lapsed into a belligerent silence.

“Is there anything new?” Jonathan quickly asked Brad, ignoring his father’s outburst.

“Not yet.”

“This must be very trying for you, Miss Davis,” Jonathan said sympathetically.

“How could such a thing like this happen?” Ashley demanded, worry and bewilderment in her voice.

“Very unfortunate,” Jonathan agreed in a people-management tone.

“Just awful,” Ellen echoed. “She was…is…a very pleasant and agreeable young woman. All of this is too frightful to believe. What could have—”

“Where is your home, Miss Davis?” Jonathan asked, deliberately interrupting.

“San Francisco. I came as soon as I received the news of her disappearance. It took all day because I had to change planes and make three connections.”

Clayton grunted as he leaned forward in his chair. The old man’s heavy-lidded eyes reflected a far-off look, but his voice was surprisingly firm. “Traveling is always exhausting under the best conditions, young lady. Even in a private plane you have to contend with all the time changes.”

An exasperated look crossed Ashley’s tired face. Brad knew her nerves were already threadbare. Trying to cope with mounting anxiety was taking its toll. He quickly intervened.

“Dr. Hadley wanted Miss Davis to have something warm to drink and perhaps a robe around her shoulders.”

“Oh yes, a cup of hot tea,” Ellen responded quickly. “It’s a late hour for coffee, isn’t it? Please sit here, Miss Davis.” She motioned to a nearby chair and as Ashley wearily dropped down into it, Ellen handed her a knitted afghan.

“Thank you,” Ashley said as she spread it over her damp lap and legs.

“I made it myself. Pretty isn’t it?”

As if enjoying the unexpected company, Ellen happily gave her attention to a silver teapot and china cups that were already sitting on a nearby small table.

“I was enjoying a cup of peppermint tea myself,” she bubbled. “Cream? Sugar? Lemon?”

Ashley just nodded as if making a choice was too demanding. Brad took the cup of tea from Ellen and carefully placed it in Ashley’s trembling hands.

“I expect you would probably prefer a highball, Officer Taylor,” Jonathan spoke up as if he’d already anticipated Brad’s answer.

“I never drink on the job,” Brad answered evenly. He’d learned earlier in life that it was better not to socialize with any of the island’s wealthy inhabitants.

Even as a teenager growing up on Greystone, he’d viewed the Langdons’ social whirl from afar. Since he’d been back, his contact with the parade of wealthy visitors who rented cottages at the southwest tip of the island had been purely in the line of duty. Only the disappearance of a woman in the Langdon household had gained him entry into this pseudopolite rich society.

After taking a few sips of tea, Ashley said firmly, “Now, I would appreciate hearing from all of you anything you can tell me about my sister’s disappearance.”

“I’m sure Officer Taylor has filled you in,” Jonathan responded smoothly. “We know little more than what we told him.”

“And what was that?” she asked pointedly.

Jonathan looked at Brad as if he expected him to speak up, but Brad deliberately kept silent. Sometimes people tripped themselves up when they tried to repeat the same story in the same way.

Jonathan cleared his voice. “We have arrangements with one of the local housewives to bring fresh produce and seafood to the house every day. She found a woman’s belongings on a cliff not far from here. She brought them to the house, and our housemaid, Clara, recognized them as belonging to your sister. The circumstances seemed dire and we quickly reported her absence.”

“It’s just too awful,” Ellen sighed.

In the weighted silence, Clayton Langdon cleared his throat. Then he barked, “Prepare a room for Miss Ashley. She will be our guest.”

Mrs. Mertz shot Jonathan a questioning look. At his nod, she turned on her ugly shoes and left the room like a soldier with marching orders.

Brad made a mental note to interrogate Mrs. Mertz again. In her position, the housekeeper was bound to know a hell of a lot more about what went on in the house than she had admitted.

“I’ll bring in your suitcase and check back with you in the morning,” he told Ashley as he prepared to leave.

She cleared her voice and took a deep breath. “You need to ask for help,” she said bluntly as her trembling hands held the fragile tea cup. “Surely the Portland police should take some responsibility. They could send someone.”

“Like a rookie cop?” he suggested curtly. It rankled him that she had clearly classified him as a local yokel who couldn’t find his own dog tied to a post. Without another word, he turned and left the room.



THE BEDROOM the housekeeper had prepared for Ashley was on the ocean side of the house. The sound of the surf assaulting the rocky cliffs could be heard above wailing gusts of wind. By the time Ashley had followed Mrs. Mertz through a complex of halls and curved staircases leading to the second floor, she was totally disoriented. The rambling mansion seemed to be a weird maze of rooms and additions to the main structure throughout the years. The housekeeper stopped at the far end of a long hall and opened a bedroom door.

“We’ve already closed up this side of the house for the winter,” Mrs. Mertz informed Ashley without any hint of an apology for the cold and musty smell inside the room.

A large bed with a massive wooden frame stood against one wall, and an old-fashioned chiffonnier matched a free-standing wardrobe and vanity. Even though the furniture was rather massive, there was an air of youth about the faded decor on the walls and the feminine furnishings.

In addition to the overhead light, there was a bedside lamp. Ashley’s small suitcase sat in the middle of a faded, fringed rug; she assumed that a servant must have brought it up earlier.

“Would you like me to turn down the bed?” Mrs. Mertz asked with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Yes, please, and bring a hot water bottle to warm the covers, Ashley retorted silently. She wished she had the courage to play the spoiled socialite guest and order a housekeeper around.

“I put out an extra comforter and turned on the heater in the bathroom. Is there anything else?”

“Where does that door lead?” Ashley asked, pointing to a door flanked by two tall windows on the ocean side of the room.

“The widow’s walk. It’s a long narrow balcony that runs the length of the original section of the house. Amelia Langdon, the first mistress of the house, is reported to have paced it night and day, hoping for some sign of her husband’s clipper ship coming back from trade in the Indies. This was the master bedroom then.”

“I see.”

The housekeeper’s thin lips curved in a faint smile. “Amelia’s lonely watch never brought him back that last time. His ship was wrecked at sea. Some say she’s still waiting and watching. Sometimes on moonless, stormy nights, the poor lady’s ghostly form has been seen walking right outside that door.”

“Really? How exciting. All these old mansions have their own delightful ghost stories, don’t they?” Not for all the world would Ashley let the housekeeper spook her. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Mertz. I appreciate it.”

“Good night, then,” she replied in a tone as crisp as burnt toast.

Ashley closed the door after her and then leaned against it, struggling to control her emotions. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. Never had she felt so close to being totally out of control. Slightly panicked, she drew in long, shaky breaths to steady herself. It wouldn’t do herself or her sister any good if she fell apart.

She bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and went into the small adjoining bathroom. It had obviously been renovated; the fixtures were modern, and the tile was an expensive mosaic pattern.

She stripped off her damp clothes, turned on the shower and held her breath until the spray changed from cold to a satisfying warm temperature. Grateful for scented soap and shampoo, she showered and washed her hair. As she dried herself, she caught her reflection in a gold-framed mirror above an oval-shaped sink. Worry and fear were etched in her face. Yesterday she’d been immersed in the challenges of her business. Now the success of Hollywood Boutique seemed hollow.

Lorrie. Her sister’s name caught in her throat. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes. I’m here, Lorrie. I’m here.



THE STORM passed over during the night. Ashley thought she must have slept a bit, even though she had twisted and turned restlessly. She was aware that sometime in the night, the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Darkness outside the door and windows began to lighten to a dull gray. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in designer jeans, a cotton blouse and a jacket.

Despite Brad Taylor’s assurance that he’d put out information on her sister’s disappearance, Ashley decided she wasn’t going to sit and wait for him or anyone else to respond. Her pent-up emotions demanded release. She was convinced that somebody on the island knew what had happened to Lorrie. She’d brave the chilly, foggy morning and walk down to the wharf. People might feel freer talking to her. She really didn’t care whether Officer Brad Taylor liked it or not.

Cautiously she opened her door. With only a vague idea of how to find her way out of the house, she began walking down the gloomy hall. All of the doors along the corridor were closed and there was no hint of anyone occupying the rooms. She must have covered the entire length of the wing the housekeeper had said was closed before she came to a narrow staircase that descended rather steeply to a closed door at the bottom.

She hesitated. Were these the same stairs she’d climbed last night? No, they were too narrow and steep. Was it going to take her half the morning to find her way out of the house? She knew it was early. The only sound she heard was the whisper of her steps and the creaking of the dark planked floorboards. High, gabled windows let in rays of feeble early sun. Maybe the household would not be stirring for hours.

When she came to a carpeted hall that widened, she sensed a difference in the surroundings. The musty smells disappeared as she hurried forward. When she came to another staircase, she thought it was probably the one she’d climbed the night before.

She peered over the banister and searched for a glimpse of something familiar in the hall below. When she reached the bottom of the steps, her ears picked up a clatter of kitchen noises and her nose sensed the odor of cooking.

She turned in the opposite direction. Her choice turned out to be the right one. She found herself in the front foyer. The heavy front door echoed loudly in the early morning hush as it closed behind her.

Drawing her jacket closely around her, she headed down the narrow road through a dark tunnel of trees that had hugged Brad’s car on both sides last night as they had driven up from the wharf. Wisps of gray fog rose from needled spruce branches drooping heavily with moisture. The road followed the rugged shoreline, and salty moist air bathed her face.

Slowly, the wooded area gave way to ground vegetation, and as the road descended from the high point of the island, she could see scattered weathered buildings near the wharf. There was a bustle of movement along the pier. Men were loading their boats for a day’s fishing and hauling on the water.

Ashley hurried to the small, whitewashed Wharf Café. Once inside the door, she was assaulted by the warmth of bodies, a clamor of loud voices and stares from the male customers.

She was out of her element and she knew it. Approaching these strangers was a far cry from relating to city merchandise buyers, but she was desperate. Moistening her dry lips, she began to circulate through the crowded tables. As she explained who she was and pleaded for any information about her missing sister, a ripple of quiet began to descend on the café.

“My sister was working for the Langdons. She’s a blonde, small and—”

“We know,” an older man with gray whiskers interrupted.

A rough-looking fisherman nodded. “Nice gal. Came in here once in a while for lunch, she did.”

“Heard about her disappearance,” offered a woman in work clothes sitting at one of the tables.

Ashley’s anxious gaze traveled around the room. “If anyone has any idea about what could have happened to my sister, please tell me. Anything…anything, at all.”

“Officer Taylor’s been all over the island,” a gruff man boomed.

At that point, a young waitress hurried over to Ashley. “I’m so sorry about your sister. Lorrie’s always so friendly and nice. I just love waiting on her.” She pressed Ashley’s hand. “She has to be all right…she just has to be! I can’t believe—” She broke off as someone came into the café. “Brad! Any news?”

“Not yet, Betsy.” Brad’s eyes settled on Ashley. “You’re out early, Miss Davis.”

“Yes, I am,” she replied, keeping her head erect and squarely meeting his eyes. “I thought I’d meet a few people on my own. Just in case—”

“I missed something?”

“I just want to help.”

“Good. I’m just heading to the office to make radio contact with as many boats in the area as I can. Would you like to come along?”

The invitation surprised her. Being at the heart of the investigation was better than letting her imagination run wild.

“Yes, I would. Thank you. I’ll call the Langdons and let them know where I’ll be.”

“Have you had breakfast?” When she shook her head, he turned to the waitress. “Betsy, send a couple of breakfast specials and coffee over to the station.”



BRAD WAS SILENT as they walked a short distance to a municipal building that also housed a volunteer department and the island’s post office.

He had no idea why he had impulsively invited Ashley Davis to come to the office with him. Something in her dogged manner had surprised and rather pleased him. He wouldn’t have expected her to have that kind of determination and self-sacrifice. His annoyance at her lack of faith in his abilities had been tempered by a begrudging admiration. He wasn’t used to having a woman challenge him on any level, but as she matched his step and walking rhythm, he suspected he might have found one.

“This is it,” he said as he ushered her inside. He wasn’t about to make apologies for its stark ugliness. The Greystone police station amounted to two rooms: an office and a small, windowless back room that served as a temporary jail. More often than not, the cell was occupied by someone needing a place to sleep off a hangover. The boatman, Jenkins, had been a guest more than once.

“Sorry, the place is a mess.” He quickly cleared a chair of a pile of folders. “I was attempting to clean the files when the Langdons called about your sister. Have a seat. Coffee and breakfast will be here soon.”

She surprised him with an apology. “I’m sorry if I was out of line going to the café like that. I just couldn’t stay at the house and wait.”

“No harm done. I’ll get started on the radio calls.” He turned his back to her and sat down at an old desk.

“Isn’t there something I can do to help?” she asked, still standing.

“Not at the moment.”

She fell silent as she sat down in a chair behind him. She picked at the breakfast order when it arrived, but Brad barely touched his, only pausing for hurried sips of black coffee.

He kept on the radio, referring to a record of various craft that had listed call numbers with the Portland authorities. He asked each commercial and private pilot to relay any information that might help locate the missing woman.

As the minutes ticked by, he could sense Ashley’s frustration as she began to move restlessly around the small office.

Welcome to police work. Tedious, boring and exacting.

His own exasperation was at a high level when an urgent call came in from a fishing boat heading out into deep Atlantic waters.

“We weren’t sure what we were seeing,” the captain said after giving his location. “Looked like something floating loose and the closer we got, we could tell it was an old rowboat. We weren’t equipped to chase and snag it, but we got close enough to plainly see it. I’ll be danged if there wasn’t a woman lying in the bottom of it.”

“We’re on it!” Brad signed off and hurriedly paged his deputy. “Get the patrol boat ready to go out, Bill. We’ve got a lead.”

He’d forgotten all about Ashley, until he swung around and saw her standing behind him with a face as white as an Easter lily.

“Is it—?”

“Maybe. Let’s go!”

He grabbed her hand as they raced to the pier.




Chapter Three


Brad was at the wheel of the police cruiser, and Ashley and the deputy at the bow of the boat when they headed down the western coast of the island and out into the open waters of the Atlantic.

Stocky, round-faced Bill Hunskut kept a pair of binoculars focused on the water ahead as he firmly planted his thick, muscular legs on the rolling deck. Ashley guessed him to be a little older than Brad.

Ashley was oblivious to the cold mist of water spraying her face as she clutched the railing with both hands. Her body was rigid and her pulse rapid as they searched the rising and falling waves for a drifting rowboat.

The sky was clearing after last night’s storm. Patches of glistening sunlight reflected in the rising and falling gray-blue water were creating illusions. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw a floating object in the water.

She pointed and cried excitedly, “There! There!”

Deputy Bill gently touched her arm. “It’s only a floating porpoise, miss.”

Sometimes it was floating debris or a weathered log that made her chest tighten. With every tortured minute, the hopelessness of finding a tiny boat in a vast sea grew greater and greater.

Lorrie. Lorrie. Her sister’s name was a mantra on her moist lips when the deputy suddenly yelled.

“Starboard! Starboard!”

As Brad quickly swung the boat in that direction, Ashley squinted but couldn’t see anything.

“Where? Where?”

Bill pointed, and her breath caught as a rolling wave brought the floating object into view.

“There it is!” Brad quickly slowed the cruiser’s speed. “Get the hook ready.” With exacting patience, he began to maneuver the cruiser close enough for Bill to try to snag the rowboat.

Ashley clenched the railing with white-knuckled hands. The motion of the police boat kept moving the floating boat away.

Finally, after several frustrating tries, Brad succeeded in bringing the old boat alongside.

Ashley hung over the railing. When she saw her sister’s crumpled, still body lying in the bottom of the rowboat, knife-like pains shot through her.

No, no! She can’t be dead.

Both men moved with quiet competence. They lowered a rope ladder so that Brad could descend into the rocking boat. With his strong arms, he put the inert body into a carrier sling fastened to a pulley from above. Ashley realized what a well-trained team they were to handle such an emergency.

At Brad’s signal, Deputy Bill raised the sling to deck level. Once it had been lowered onto deck, both men instantly knelt beside the litter. Blond hair was matted with blood from a swelling at the back of the young woman’s head, and her arms and legs were motionless.

“Is she…?” Ashley choked.

Brad checked for vital signs, searching for a pulse in the limp wrist and laying his head on her chest to detect any faint movement.

“She’s alive. Get the oxygen ready, Bill. Only a very faint pulse, but we may have a chance.”

He carried her into the cabin, which had been equipped with first aid emergency supplies, and quickly laid her on a stretcher-like cot.

“We’ve got to get her warm.” He turned to Ashley. “Get some blankets out of that cupboard. Bill, set up the oxygen tent. I’ll radio the Portland stationmaster to have an ambulance ready. We can get her to the mainland quicker than returning to Greystone and summoning a helicopter to pick her up.”

The trip was the longest one Ashley had ever made. The minutes crept by as she kept her eyes glued on Lorrie, watching for any sign of consciousness. Almost imperceptibly, Lorrie’s deathly color began to change in the oxygen tent. The feeble sound of air moving in and out of her chest told Ashley she was breathing deeper.

“Reckon we found her in time,” Deputy Bill encouraged in his calm, homespun way. “She’ll be fit as a fiddle, you wait and see.”

An ambulance was waiting on the wharf when Brad eased the patrol cruiser into its assigned berth on the mainland. Immediately, two male paramedics came aboard, took charge, and transferred Lorrie to the ambulance.

“We’ll follow in my car,” Brad told Ashley. “I keep one in a nearby parking area for use when I’m on the mainland.” He told Bill to arrange for the rowboat to be examined for forensic evidence. “You catch the afternoon ferry back to the island, Bill, and I’ll call in as soon as we know something.”



ASHLEY SANK BACK in the seat of Brad’s compact car and stared ahead as he drove in silence to the community hospital. She was grateful he didn’t try to engage her in conversation. Apprehensive and emotionally drained, she was functioning at a precarious level. His firm, solid and unruffled manner helped steady a hurricane of feelings whirling within her.

When they reached the hospital, they hurried into the emergency room. Brad used his official status to gain assurances that as soon as any news was available, he would be immediately advised.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to do but wait,” he told Ashley as they turned away from the desk. “I need to make some calls. I’ll be as quick as I can. Would you like to have me bring you back some coffee?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard. For a moment, she had the absurd urge to insist that he didn’t leave her.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I’ll only be a few minutes, I promise.” He gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder, turned and disappeared down a nearby hall.

She found an empty chair in the crowded room and sank down into it.



AS BRAD made his way to a small office he’d used before when conducting business from the hospital, he was puzzled why he felt so personally involved in this investigation. He’d handled plenty of traumatic situations when he had been an investigator in the State Enforcement Bureau. Plenty of heart-rending tragedies. Plenty of attractive, appealing women. What was it about Ashley Davis that made everything about this one different? Was it because she’d stood up to him and openly questioned his competence? Just this morning in the café, she’d even been trying to do his job.

“Dammed if I know why she gets to me,” he muttered to himself.

He called his superior in Portland and brought him up to date. “I don’t know how soon I’ll be able to question the victim. She’s in emergency now, and we’re waiting to hear if she makes it.” They talked for a few more minutes.

When Brad returned to the emergency room, he waited with Ashley. It was nearly noon when a young doctor gave them the news.

“She’s conscious and her condition is stable.” He told them she’d been moved to a private room. “You can see her for a few minutes.”



LORRIE’S EYES were open when they entered her room, and her lips curved in a weak smile as Ashley bent over and kissed her cheek.

“You had me scared, Loribelle,” she said, using a pet name.

“Sorry, Sis,” she whispered weakly.

“You’re going to be all right. The doctor says so.” She motioned Brad to come closer to the bed. “This is Officer Brad Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you, Lorrie.” He bent over the bed and smiled down at her.

Lorrie stared up at him and then said weakly, “Big one, isn’t he?”

Ashley chuckled. Leave it to Lorrie to say whatever came into her mind. At that moment, for the first time since the horrible nightmare began, she truly believed her sister was going to be all right.

“Could I ask you a few questions, Lorrie?” Brad asked politely in a nonthreatening tone.

“It’s all fuzzy…like a bad dream,” she said in a tremulous voice. “What happened…what happened to me?”

“Someone knocked you out and put you afloat in a boat,” Brad answered evenly. “Lorrie, do you know anyone who might want to harm you?”

In a weak voice, she whispered, “Maybe Sloane.”

“Why Sloane, Lorrie?”

Ashley could tell Brad knew who Lorrie was talking about, but before her sister could answer, a nurse interrupted them.

“You have to leave now. Doctor’s orders.”

“Can’t I stay with her?” Ashley protested.

“All you would do is watch her sleep,” the nurse answered briskly. “Come back tomorrow. She’ll be ready for a visit.”

“It’s okay, Sis,” Lorrie mumbled weakly. “Tell the Langdons—”

“Don’t worry about the inventory,” Ashley said. “I’ll work on it until you’re well.” Her background and experience in textiles was strong enough to satisfy the auction company.

She kissed Lorrie’s cheek and blinked back tears as they left the room. She felt totally drained, but as they made their way out of the hospital, anger began to surface. “Who is Sloane?”

“A drifter. Comes and goes. Works the lobster boats sometimes. Makes just enough money to keep himself in drink and cheap food.” Brad clenched his jaw. “He’s bought himself a pile of trouble this time if he’s the one who did this.”

“You’ll arrest him?”

“If there’s any evidence he’s guilty.”

“Lorrie said it was Sloane!”

“No, she said it could have been Sloane,” Brad corrected her. “That’s a big difference from saying she knew for certain he was the one who knocked her out and set her adrift in the rowboat.”

“Who else could it be? My sister doesn’t go around making enemies.”

“I promise I’ll check on Sloane, up, down and sideways. If he’s the one, he’ll pay plenty for this attempt at murder.”

“And if he isn’t?”

“We’ll just have to keep looking.”



A HEAVY SILENCE engulfed them as they headed back to the island. Brad was lost in his own thoughts. Ashley was weak with relief that her sister had been found alive; that miracle crowded out everything else.

It was midafternoon when they docked the patrol boat.

Brad said, “I’ll drive you back to the Langdons’.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather walk,” Ashley replied quickly. “I need some time to myself. You know, digest everything that’s happened.” Her voice choked. “Thank you for finding Lorrie…saving her life…and everything.”

“You’re the one with courage,” he replied gently. “I wish I had a sister who would turn the world upside down for me if I was in trouble.” As if surprised by what he’d said, he added briskly, “I’ll keep you posted.”

She walked quickly past the cluster of buildings dotting the area around the wharf and started back up the road she’d walked that morning.

Now that the fog had lifted, she could see summer cottages hugging the shoreline and nestled in wooded areas. Most of them seemed deserted.

The moanful cry of a loon seemed to follow her as she made her way along the high bluff where the Langdon mansion rose against the sky.

As she approached the front door, it opened suddenly and an athletic-looking man dressed in slacks and a Norwegian knit sweater came out. When he saw her, his mouth curved in a pleasant smile.

“Miss Davis?”

She nodded with a slight questioning lift of her eyebrows. Thick, dark, slightly gray hair framed a strong, masculine face. She guessed him to be somewhere in his mid to late forties. A diamond ring flashed on his hand as he reached out to shake hers.

“I’m Paul Fontaine,” he said, introducing himself. “My law firm handles Mr. Langdon’s legal affairs.”

She nodded, surprised that he was a lawyer. He didn’t seem to fit the stereotype of the legal profession. He was dressed too casually and his manner too effusive.

“The family was just telling me you were here and about Lorrie’s disappearance. I didn’t know. I’ve been busy on the mainland for a few days. I only chatted with the young lady a couple of times. Is there any news?”

“Yes, we found her!”

“Alive?”

“Yes, she’s in the hospital. Thank God, she’s going to be all right.”

“Wonderful. The family will be delighted. I can’t wait to see their faces.” He added, quickly, “They’re in the family room.”

Ashley had no idea where the family room might be in the maze of halls and connected rooms. “I’m not familiar with the house.”

“It takes some getting used to,” he admitted with a slight chuckle. “I still get lost sometimes.”

“You stay in the house?” she asked, wondering why she hadn’t seen him the night before.

“No,” he responded, shaking his head. “I use the guest cottage when I fly in from New York for a conference with Clayton and Jonathan.” He lowered his voice. “Frankly, it’s a break from the office routine, and I like to do a little deep-sea fishing when the weather’s good. They loan me one of the cars to get around the island and I was just about to drive down to the wharf. But I’m in no hurry. Come on, I’ll show you the way to the family room.”

Ashley tried to keep her bearings but she became lost as they passed through connecting doors, adjoining rooms and down a series of short halls. When they finally descended down some wide steps and entered a high-ceilinged room with large windows, she was surprised to find herself in a pleasant sitting room that opened onto a terrace.

In contrast to the rest of the house, the room was light, and airy, and she could see why the two men and Ellen had gathered there instead of in last night’s formal drawing room.

Fontaine broke the news to them before Ashley had a chance. “They found her. Alive!”

Ellen cried, “Oh, dear Lord!”

Old man Langdon leaned forward in his chair. “What…what?”

Jonathan strode across the room and searched Ashley’s face as if he were afraid to believe Fontaine. “Where?”

Ashley took a deep breath and sat down in the closest chair. As unemotionally as she could, she told them about the rescue. “Lorrie was knocked out from a blow to the head. She’s weak from being out in the wet and cold, but she’s regained consciousness and the doctor says she’s going to recover.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ellen bubbled.

“Did she say who was responsible?” Fontaine asked.

Ashley decided not to mention Sloane. Brad had made it clear there had to be some evidence of the man’s guilt before an arrest could be made.

“Lorrie doesn’t know,” she responded truthfully. “Apparently, she was stuck from behind and never saw her assailant.”

“Maybe she’ll remember more when she gets better,” Ellen offered.

Clayton Langdon made a wheezing sound. His color was a pasty gray as he put his bony hand on his chest and sucked in air.

Ellen was on her feet immediately and rushed over to his chair. “Oh, dear, too much excitement.”

The old man quivered like a strangled bird struggling for air and seemed to hover on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Jonathan, call Dr. Hadley,” Ellen ordered. “Your father’s having another attack.” She summoned Mrs. Mertz and sent her after his medications.

The drama was too much for Ashley. While everyone clustered around Clayton, she followed the housekeeper out of the room.

“Where do I find my sister’s room and her workroom?”

“They’re across the hall from your room.”

“And where is that?” Ashley asked in exasperation.

“Take the stairs,” Mrs. Mertz replied briskly over her shoulder and disappeared down a hall.

“Great,” Ashley muttered as she climbed narrow, steep stairs that ended at a closed door. Only feeble light illuminated the passage.

The door creaked as she opened it, and she gingerly stepped out into an unfamiliar corridor. As she looked up and down, closed doors along the way gave no hint of what might lie behind them. The faint echo of the ocean’s surf reached her ears, and she headed in that direction. When she came to descending stairs that resembled the ones she’d taken that morning, she knew where she was.

Ashley decided she’d better get a handle on the inventory as quickly as possible. When she reached her room, she turned to the door directly opposite hers and gingerly opened it. Peering in, Ashley felt a rush of warmth.

Lorrie’s usual clutter was spread out all over the bedroom. A lovely sight. Ashley smiled. Never again would she chide her sister about her messy habits.

She found two empty suitcases and began to pack up her sister’s belongings. She’d take them to the hospital tomorrow, so they’d be there when Lorrie was ready to leave.

After she’d finished packing, she looked around the room to see if she’d missed anything and noticed a door on the inside wall next to the closet. It opened to an adjoining room. Judging from the casual furniture and curtained windows overlooking the water, she suspected it had been a sitting room at one time with a second door that opened out into another hall. She’d found Lorrie’s workroom. No doubt about it. Vintage apparel and accessories were everywhere. A variety of garments hung on racks, others were sorted in piles and some still lay in opened old trunks. The assortment was mind-boggling.

The collection included beautiful Edwardian gowns of satin, lace and taffeta. In addition to a myriad of day dresses fashioned by famous designers, there were flounced petticoats with ribbons and edging, and shawls that reached the floor with silken fringes.

On a worktable, Lorrie’s meticulous cataloging was evident in her lists of items and a file of accompanying photos she’d taken. Various accessories, such as purses, scarves, silk flowers, and ornate jewelry, seemed to be packed and ready for transport.

Everything in the room possessed a kind of mystique that totally charmed Ashley. She felt strangely drawn to the women who had owned these beautiful things. Sensuous silken fabrics and lingering scents seemed familiar to her, as if in another lifetime she might have worn the satin gowns and ornate necklaces that had circled their necks. The impression was fleeting, but uneasiness remained. As she looked around the room, she sensed an undefined warning.

Satisfied that she could continue where Lorrie had left off, Ashley returned to her bedroom and was surprised to find a housemaid just finishing making up the large canopy bed.

A quick-moving, blondish young woman had straightened up the bathroom and had hung Ashley’s few clothes in the wardrobe. She’d even laid out her makeup and brush set in an orderly manner on the vanity.

Ashley quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I left in a hurry this morning. I don’t want to trouble you every day to make the bed and—”

“No trouble. I’m Clara.” She had a pleasant smile, and Ashley judged her to be in her early thirties.

“I’m glad to meet you, Clara. And thank you.”

“I’ve always liked doing this room. It’s nice to have somebody in it. I used to set it right every day.” Her tone grew pensive. “Don’t know why they’ve left it all shut up for so long. I’m surprised Mrs. Mertz decided to put you here.”

“It’s a spacious room,” Ashley commented and wondered what there was about it that lacked warmth.

“Pamela liked it.”

“Pamela?”

“Mr. Jonathan’s daughter. You should have seen the room then. She had all kinds of bright pictures on the walls and knickknacks everywhere. She had everything any young woman and bride-to-be could want when she had this room.” Her voice faltered. “She died…two years ago now.”

“Yes, I heard about the tragedy.” She remembered Brad had said the young woman had died of a drug overdose.

“I’d been her maid since I came to the house. She was always so full of life. I couldn’t believe it. Only twenty-three years old. Her wedding dress was hanging in the closet. I’d pressed it the day before. I know she never meant to kill herself, even though she and her fiancé had a big fight. He stormed off and Pamela shut herself up in this room…” Clara’s voice petered out.

“What a tragedy,” Ashley murmured gently.

The maid reached out and smoothed a coverlet on the bed. “I found her…right here…in this bed. All cold and lifeless.” Her voice thickened as she turned and stared at Ashley. “I wonder why old lady Mertz put you in her room? She always hated my Pamela.”




Chapter Four


As Ashley stared at the bed, her imagination began to taunt her with haunting impressions. A young girl lying on the bed…drawing her last breath…clutching the pillow with desperate hands—

Stop it! Her nerves were threadbare enough without giving in to morbid fantasies. The housekeeper probably had a pragmatic reason for putting her in this room. After all, it was across the hall from the one Lorrie had occupied and close to the workroom. That made sense—didn’t it? Maybe, but from the moment Mrs. Mertz had opened the door, it was obvious to Ashley that her presence wasn’t welcome.



BRAD WAS on the wharf when the returning fleet of fishing boats pulled into the harbor after a full day’s run. The air was redolent with the smells of fish as tired crews began unloading their catch for the day’s tally.

After asking around, Brad had learned that Sloane had gone out with Old Man Whitkins, who had trouble keeping any kind of a permanent crew because of the pittance he paid. The crusty old codger had to depend on unreliable help like Sloane, who signed on when he needed drinking money.

Whitkins’s old boat was one of the last to come into view. Brad saw Sloane sitting on the deck, his feet propped up on a lobster cage while he smoked a cigarette. He heard Whitkins yelling at him to cast the bowlines as the fishing vessel prepared to dock.

Brad decided to wait until Sloane had finished unloading the boat before he approached him. He didn’t want to cheat Whitkins out of any work he was paying the man to do. As soon as Sloane headed toward the pub with his wages in his hand, Brad fell into step with him.

“Looks like you had a good day’s catch,” Brad commented.

“How in the hell would you know?” Sloane growled. “When’s the last time you put your hands into a smelly lobster trap?”

“I deal in other kinds of smelly business,” Brad answered as he put a detaining hand on Sloane’s arm. “I have some questions that need answering. Either here or at the office. What’s your choice?”

Sloane’s body stiffened and Brad was prepared to block a sudden uppercut and land one of his own, if need be. Sloane seemed to read Brad’s readiness.

“What the hell is this about?”

“Lorrie Davis.”

A slight flush deepened Sloane’s suntanned face. “That city bitch. What about her?”

“I hear you made some unwelcome advances and she brushed you off.”

Sloane cursed. “She had her nose too high in the air to see a good thing. No wonder she ended up missing.”

“Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Hell, no!”

“Where were you the day she went missing?”

“On Whitkins’s boat. I’ve been out every day this week with the old buzzard. He wouldn’t pay me until our run today. You can’t pin this one on me, copper.” Sloane smirked. “I hear you’ve got her sister in tow. How’s that working out for you?”

Brad controlled an urge to spread Sloane’s sneer all over his face and settled for giving him a rough shove backwards. “I’ll be checking out your alibi. Don’t leave the island. I’d hate to have the mainland police detain you in one of their cozy cells while I do some very, very slow paperwork.”

Sloane answered with foul-mouthed muttering as he stalked away and disappeared into the crowd of rough men pouring into the saloon, ready for some strong drink and loud talk.

Brad silently swore. Whitkins would undoubtedly confirm that Sloane had been out with him since early morning the day of Lorrie’s assault. He wished he had better news for Ashley. He braced himself to tell her they were still on square one with no leads as to who had wanted to kill her sister.



AFTER A SHOWER and a change of clothes, Ashley made her way down to the family parlor just before dinner time. She chose a navy daytime dress of woven Georgette and added her knit jacket for warmth. Now that she knew she was going to be staying on the island for at least a couple of weeks, she’d need to do some shopping in Portland for some weatherwise clothes.

She made several false choices in the maze of corridors before she found the right stairway down to the first floor and the family sitting room. Ellen was there, chatting away with a young man who sat on the sofa beside her, a drink in his hand.

At Ashley’s appearance, he quickly set down his drink and rose to his feet as his gaze traveled over her.

“This must be Ashley Davis,” he said before Ellen had a chance to introduce them.

“And this is my nephew, Kent,” Ellen said quickly, smiling broadly. “He pops in now and again to say hello.”

“Nice to meet you, Kent,” Ashley responded politely, trying to ignore a sudden dislike for the smiling, deeply tanned Kent. She judged him to be in his late twenties. Tightly stretched knit pants and a shirt hugged his muscular forearms and thighs, and he had an indolent air about him. “Do you live on the island, Kent?”

“Nope. Just passing by.”

“A friend of Kent’s has a yacht he brings up from Long Island,” Ellen explained. “They have a great time with young people partying on the different islands. Sometimes he spends a few days with me.” She added wistfully, “When he and Pamela were growing up, he was here a lot.”

Ashley eased down into a chair opposite the sofa. “I just learned about Pamela’s tragedy. I understand I have her room.”

“I guess Mrs. Mertz thought you’d want to be close to the workroom, like your sister,” Ellen offered.

“Hey, that’s good news that they found her,” Kent said, resuming his seat. “Do they know what happened?”

“Not yet,” Ashley answered evenly. “Had you met Lorrie, Kent?”

Ellen answered before he could. “Oh, yes, they had a couple of nice chats. Kent was telling her about some of the good times he and Pamela had growing up together. She was only a baby when my sister, Samantha, was killed in an automobile accident. Jonathan needed help raising her, so I came to live with the family.” Her voice faltered. “Pamela was like my very own.”

Ashley was ashamed of herself for wanting more details, but the weird way she’d been drawn into the tragedy made it seem very real to her. “An accidental death, was it?”

“Hell, yes,” Kent swore. “Pam wouldn’t take her own life. She was in a snit over the blowup she and Timothy had and got careless. Timothy stomped off and left her. He was with us on the yacht all night. Didn’t hear about her overdose until morning.” He stood up. “I need another drink.”

Ellen glanced at her watch. “There isn’t time, Kent. You can have wine with dinner. We’ll be eating in the family dining room. I understand that Paul Fontaine is going to join us.”

Kent groaned. “Deliver me! I’ll grab something from the kitchen to eat on my way out.”

Ellen looked disappointed but didn’t argue. He stood there waiting as she reached into her sweater pocket, took out an envelope and handed it to him.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/leona-karr/charmed/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.