Wait Until Dark, page 20
Whatever had happened on the night the Jeep had been wrecked—and Charlie had told her, but the whole story sounded so fantastic that Marisol couldn't help but wonder if perhaps her sister had hit her head hard in the crash and imagined two-thirds of it—the bottom line was that Charlie, sweet, sensible Charlie, had been changed ever since.
Take tonight, for instance. Charlie never suffered from stage fright—she shouldn't, she'd been singing in public since she was a little girl—but she'd been jumpy as a cat at a dog convention getting ready for tonight's performance. She'd changed costumes three times, which meant that Marisol had had to change as well, because they had to match, then in the end had gone back to the one they'd originally decided on, the new gold-sequined evening dresses with the long white gloves. This appearance at the Yellow Rose was important, for God's sake, it could be their big break, and Charlie was in a dither.
Charlie never got in a dither.
They were getting ready to go on, the emcee was announcing them, and Charlie kept peeking around the curtain, looking out at the audience as if she was searching for somebody in particular.
Charlie hadn't really told her, but Marisol knew her little sister well enough that she was willing to bet she could even guess who: this Jake guy, this DEA agent who had, in some tangled fashion that Marisol still didn't quite have sorted out in her head, been responsible for the ruination of her Jeep.
For Charlie's sake, she hoped he showed up.
Then they were on stage, breaking into their opening song. Marisol was shaking her booty along with her tamborine and looking beautiful and Charlie was strumming her guitar and singing like an angel and looking beautiful, and everything was going just as it should, when Charlie's eyes fixed on something beyond the stage and she stopped singing and broke into this absolute shit-eating grin and missed two whole chords.
Horrified, Marisol tried to take up the musical slack even as her gaze followed Charlie's. In just a couple of beats Charlie was with her again, but not before Marisol spotted him.
Not that it was hard. He was the only gorgeous hunk in the place with a pair of ladies size seven, black ostrich leather cowboy boots sitting on the table in front of him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KAREN ROBARDS lives in her hometown of Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, Doug, and their three sons: Peter, sixteen; Christopher, ten; and Jack, four. Besides her family, books are the great passion of her life. The award-winning author of twenty-six novels describes herself thus: "I read, I write, and I chase children. That's my life!"
ONCE
IN A
BLUE MOON
LINDA ANDERSON
1
SILENCE CLOAKED THE OLD LIBRARY, Settling over the empty aisles and overburdened bookshelves like an old friend and invisible protector. The grandfather clock struck a solemn nine gongs.
Addie Rivers glanced up from her desk in surprise, then checked her watch. "Yep. Working late again, Addie," she said to herself.
Her mother would be worried, which was a major source of irritation for her twenty eight-year-old daughter. For a brief moment, Addie missed Buck's presence and his habit of driving her home every night. Buck had become a bit smothering lately, but he did get her home early enough to alleviate her mother's anxiety. Addie, however, loved the nights when she jogged home, and looked forward to her solo run tonight.
She reviewed the material on her computer and decided another thirty minutes would do it. Tomorrow was the first day of ghost stories for the children's hour. Halloween would be here soon, and the children loved each session as she built the suspense to a higher and higher pitch.
Outside, a late October wind wailed and hurled brittle leaves against the long, slender windows. Addie shivered, and drew her sweater close around her shoulders. The converted nineteenth-century Victorian house was drafty and difficult to heat. Addie had begged the Blue Springs town council for a new heating system, but they'd turned her down.
An unfamiliar noise distracted her. She cocked her head and listened, but heard nothing and decided she had imagined it. She went back to work, then stiffened when the rustle came again. A soft, sibilant sound like a slipper sliding on a polished floor came from somewhere in the dark nether region of the history section.
"Coffee? Is that you?" She called the cat. "Coffee?"
A plaintive purr and a rub against her ankle surprised her. Coffee had been sleeping at her feet beneath the receiving desk.
"There you are. Thought you were in the stacks. The wind must have found a fresh crack in the wall to whistle through." She lifted the dark brown cat to her lap and rubbed her cheek against his thick coat. "Time for us to say goodnight. I have to go home, and you have serious mouse duty for the rest of the night."
Fifteen minutes later, she had changed to jogging sweats, had passed the familiar and impressive old houses on Elm Street, and was running along the tree-lined path that paralleled the two-lane highway out to the farm. The night was cold, and stars twinkled like chipped ice in the black sky. Headlights from an occasional passing car flashed over her bright red sweatshirt.
There was little traffic this late in the evening in Blue Springs.
Her eyes smarted and watered as the brisk air lashed against her face, but Addie found it stimulating and forced herself to breathe evenly. This three-mile run always gave her a sense of freedom. Each long stride increased her feeling of power and control, both of which she'd found little of lately. Her mother's increasing fear for her safety irritated her, and Buck's pressing for a wedding date made her feel as if he'd placed her in a box and locked the lid.
There were times when she felt like she couldn't breathe.
Exercise released her bottled up tension. With no tennis courts, golf courses, or swimming pools, Blue Springs, West Virginia, held little opportunity for exercise, so she made a point of walking to work in the mornings. She'd jogged home every night until six months ago when Buck decided it was his duty to drive her home.
Buck meant well. They had dated since high school and through college. Somewhere along the way, Buck had assumed it was his job to take care of her. Addie hated it, but he was such a kind soul that she hadn't the heart to tell him that she would prefer to get home on her own. Thank God he taught a class once a week at the community college an hour away. The time alone gave her needed breathing room.
The drowning death of her best friend, Laurel Major, a year ago, and the mysterious disappearance of a book group friend, Janelle Knight, three months ago had triggered her mother's growing paranoia and Buck's smothering protectiveness. Her throat tightened at the thought of how much she yearned for her childhood friend, Laurel, and their good times together. Laurel and Janelle were both missed by the members of Addie's compatible book circle, which met every two weeks to dine and review current books.
Slap, slap, slap. The unmistakable beat of running feet startled her. The sound of soles crunching leaves and debris on the dirt path behind her was quite clear in the quiet night. How odd, she thought. No one who lives out this way is a runner.
She turned to see who else ran this time of night, but saw nothing except dark shadows and the trembling of a bush, as if someone had just stepped behind it.
Hogwash, Addie. Either I really heard something, or my ears need to be examined. Maybe the runner stepped into the trees for a minute.
There weren't many joggers in the small town. Buck ran some, and Joe Bolo, their police chief, and a few others. She resumed her pace, but worried that maybe a large dog followed, or a wild animal of some sort. Come, come, Addie. Wild animals vacated Blue Springs years ago. Blue Springs was her birthplace. She'd grown up here, and had returned to live, work, and write here because it was peaceful, and her mom needed her.
Again, the sound came, and she jerked her head around, but there was nothing there. It's a broken tree limb rubbing against a trunk, she imagined, but ran faster. For the first time in her life she wondered if Blue Springs wasn't as safe as she'd always thought.
The white board fence coming up on her left indicated the boundaries of Rivers Farm, and she moved toward it eagerly, ashamed of her irrational fear. The scent of freshly mown grass, cut earlier in the day by farmhand Bobby Heed, filled the brisk night air. A cowbell tinkled in the distance, and Rags barked. She was home.
She skirted a white oval planked wooden sign that hung from the arm of a sturdy post. A light on the ground at the base of the post shone on quaintly painted gold letters that spelled out RIVERS FARM BED AND BREAKFAST. She gave the sign a quick thump, and it swung gently back and forth. The squeaking of its wrought iron chains in the quiet night followed her through the gate and up the long drive.
The old farmhouse, a delightful, added-onto, sprawling semicolonial, painted pastel yellow with wide verandas and large white-framed windows, beckoned warmly. Her mother's bedroom window on the second floor was dark, but welcoming lights shone from the kitchen windows.
The last sprint up the drive was always an effort, and she was breathing hard as she passed the barn and headed toward the friendly lights of the kitchen. A happy bark came from the dark, and she knew Rags raced up from the lower meadow to say hello. The border collie reached her as she passed the barn, and she braced herself for his affectionate onslaught. They fell to the ground with a lot of laughter, licking kisses, and tail wagging.
"Okay, okay, you bandit. I love you. Now let me up."
Rags rolled over on his back to have his belly scratched. Addie obliged. She glanced up and saw an expensive sports car parked near the barn. It was too dark to tell the make of the sleek machine, but its glossy finish reflected faint yellow beams of light from the windows.
The new guest must have arrived. Her mother was happiest when her three guest rooms were filled. Eileen Rivers's hosting and cooking abilities were known all over this border region of West Virginia and Virginia.
Good, thought Addie. Having someone here will keep her mind off me.
She gave Rags a final rub and got to her feet. A cup of hot chocolate would taste great. She jogged the last few yards to the house, crossed the planked porch to the kitchen door, and then remembered with dismay that she'd left her house keys at the library.
"Dammit," she muttered. They'd never locked their door until recently, and Addie still hadn't developed the habit of carrying keys. She hated to wake her mother, but she would have to.
She pounded on the door, hoping that her sound-sleeping mother would eventually hear her.
The door opened so quickly that she almost fell in, and a tall barefooted man dressed only in red pajama bottoms stood before her. His well-muscled chest was at her eye level, and her gaze traced a thick patch of triangular black hair up to a strong chin and found an inquiring look on his face.
"Hi. I hope you're Mrs. Rivers's daughter, Addie," he said, and smiled. "If not, then you must be a beautiful damsel in distress lost in the country and seeking shelter at a friendly farm. You found the right place."
Addie realized immediately that this was the newly arrived bed-and-breakfast guest. What was he doing in the kitchen half-dressed?
"Eh, yes, I'm, I mean, no - I'm not a beautiful stranger." She blushed, flustered at this vibrant masculine energy confronting her in her own house and in such an audacious manner. "I'm Addie Rivers. You must be Mom's new guest."
He nodded and stepped aside so she could enter. "You may not be a stranger, but you are beautiful. Come in out of the cold," he said. Seeming very much at home, he swept his arm in front of him and bowed.
She passed by him quickly, catching an inviting scent of aftershave and rich cigar. The heat of the kitchen hit her, warming her cheeks with welcome. Sweet smells of melted butter, cinnamon, and blackberries filled the inviting country kitchen.
A pan of cornbread sat in the open microwave, and the refrigerator door hung ajar. On the big rectangular pine table sat the leftovers of a dinner Eileen Rivers had prepared for friends the evening before: containers of sweet potato soufflé and deep-fried herbed quail. Wavery ribbons of sweet-smelling vapor rose from the remains of a blackberry cobbler, which the usurper had obviously just removed from the microwave.
The coffee maker made a tinkling sound, indicating the coffee was ready. In one long stride, the man gave the refrigerator door a nudge to shut it, took the corn-bread from the microwave, then poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Join me for a snack?"
She stared at him, aghast at the arrogance he displayed in offering her a snack in her own home. His heavy dark eyebrows lifted at her glare, amusement twinkling in his devastating eyes. A tiny gold earring pierced one ear.
"Sorry. I should introduce myself. I'm Will Court. I arrived later than expected, and your mother was about to go to bed. She asked if I'd like something to eat, and I declined. But later, after she'd retired, I suffered severe sugar withdrawal and came back downstairs. I didn't think your mother would mind."
Eileen Rivers wouldn't mind, but Addie did.
He waved a golden-brown quail wing at her. "Sure you don't want something? Your mother is a superb cook, isn't she?"
"Yes, she loves to cook."
Addie tried not to notice the width of his shoulders, and how they curved so symmetrically down into firm tanned arms. Suddenly acutely aware of her sweaty disheveled appearance, she jammed her hands into her pockets and wanted to shrink headfirst down into her sweatshirt. Hey, wait a minute, she lectured herself, he's the one who's half-naked and ordering me around in my own kitchen. Who does he think he is, anyway?
"I understand you're the town librarian?"
"Yes."
"Convenient for me. I'm here to do some research."
"How nice," she said coolly. "Look, Mr. Court, I just jogged three miles from town, and I planned on having a cup of hot chocolate. I'll fix it and be out of your way shortly."
"Certainly," he said. He peered at her over the rim of his mug and gulped down half of the coffee. The steaming hot liquid seemed not to bother him at all.
With great confidence, and not a whit of shyness, he sat down at the table, helped himself to more quail, a heaping ladle of sweet potatoes, a piece of cornbread dripping with butter, and proceeded to finish the meal she'd interrupted. Addie turned away, but felt his interested gaze on her as she moved about the kitchen, and remembered the blueness of his deep-set eyes. Concentrating self-consciously on her hot chocolate preparation, Addie tried to ignore the sounds he made as he cleared his food from the table, rinsed dishes in the sink and placed them in the dishwasher.
He said, "If I've offended you, I apologize. Had no idea I would be discovered half-naked, sneaking cornbread. I have a tendency to plunge full speed ahead, damn the results."
Half-naked and not caring a fig if anyone found you, she thought.
"Not to worry," she said, aware she should be more gracious to a paying guest. "I'm tired and not very sociable tonight."
With cup in hand, she turned to say goodnight and found him right behind her. His steady regard unnerved her and an embarrassing warm flush traveled over her breasts, up her neck, and onto her cheeks. The fragrance of his light aftershave came again, and Addie wanted to inhale it, lap it up, sleep with it.
What? Sleep with his aftershave? Sleep with it?
Good Lord, what is the matter with me? I'm lusting after a complete stranger, that's what is the matter with me, came her shameful answer.
"Goodnight," she said curtly, and turned to cross the kitchen floor. She felt his penetrating gaze on her all the way.
When she reached the door, Will Court said, "Goodnight."
"If I'd known Buck was gone I'd have come for you myself," declared Eileen Rivers the next morning, setting a platter of warm blueberry muffins in front of her daughter. "I certainly hope you're remembering to lock the library up tight."
Addie poked at her scrambled eggs, her mother's words barely registering as she daydreamed out the expansive picture window. Images of the man she'd met in the kitchen last night, and his disturbing effect on her, interfered with her wandering view of the farm's meadows and creek.
"You're really getting paranoid, Mom. Relax, for heaven's sake," she murmured, but suffered a fleeting pang of guilt at the memory of the keys she'd forgotten at the library.
Her reverie drifted across the broad creek and frost-covered meadows and found the distant red and gold peaks of the Allegheny Mountains shimmering in the early morning sun.
"I think the death of two good friends in the last year is enough to make anyone worry."
Addie sighed, and finally gave full attention to her mother.
"Laurel's drowning was an accident, and Janelle was in Marysville when she disappeared. Who knows? She may have gotten bored with teaching first grade and run away to Tahiti or something. None of it puts me in any danger. Besides, I have Coffee to protect me."
"You can make fun if you want, but they're still investigating Laurel's so-called accident. She never went swimming alone, and she had marks around her neck indicating she might have been strangled."
Addie's stomach turned. "Mom, please, must we talk about this? It's a beautiful morning, and I'd rather remember Laurel alive and happy."
Her mother sniffed. "Sorry, dear, but I really think Joe should call in some superior help for the investigation of Laurel's death. And you know perfectly well that Janelle didn't run off to Tahiti. Wishful thinking, Adelaide Rivers. They found signs of a struggle and traces of her blood in the apartment and her car. Don't you think it's more than coincidence that two members of a book group in this rural area have disappeared?"
Addie sighed again. "No, Mom, I don't think Laurel was an accident, and Janelle must have met the wrong person."
"The Real Crime magazine I read last night said those monsters usually form a pattern and don't break it. I don't think two members gone from the same book group within a year is a coincidence. And," she said, pausing for dramatic effect, "this monster evidently likes bookish women with dark-brown hair - like yours. I'm just happy Buck escorts you home at night."
