“Mr. Gilfilen, please. Priscilla Carter is dead. Lloyd Magnuson has disappeared. Someone out there is smuggling something they’re willing to kill for. Won’t you let the government agencies handle this rather than putting your life at risk?” Kellen stood with her hands clasped at her chest, watching Mr. Gilfilen make himself a cup of oolong tea.
He had returned to his suite mere moments before, dressed in military camouflage, frozen to the bone and calm in the face of tonight’s failure. “Miss Adams, I appreciate your concern. But I am not without resources. Like you, I’ve served in the military, and unlike you, I promptly went into security as a way to utilize my training. If these smugglers are bringing in illegal and lethal drugs to distribute to our young people, or munitions that they plan to assemble in an act of terrorism, would I be satisfied to tell myself, At least I kept myself safe?” He lifted the tea bag out of his cup and looked inquiringly at her. Politely.
“No, of course you wouldn’t.” Kellen understood that cutting the umbilical cord of funding to the terrorists would benefit the United States, but Mr. Gilfilen clearly believed he was taking direct action against the evils that threatened society, not stopping the illegal import of ancient artifacts. “Sometimes what comes in isn’t lethal in and of itself.”
He sugared his tea and took a sip.
She tried again. “I’ve been doing research.” Which was a kind of truth. “The head of this smuggling operation is without scruples, compassion, the slightest shred of humanity.”
“Miss Adams, please don’t tell me you think someone who would kill a young woman and cut off her hands is not a good person.” His humor was so dry it could flake paint off the wall.
Right. She wasn’t going to win this argument—the argument with Mr. Gilfilen, or with herself. If Nils Brooks and Mr. Gilfilen worked together, they could possibly find and disable the Librarian sooner. But she had never completely trusted Brooks, so if she told him about Mr. Gilfilen and Nils was a bad guy, she had betrayed a man of honor. She wanted to tell Mr. Gilfilen about Nils Brooks and the MFAA, but did she dare gamble her trust on such an important issue?
She couldn’t see a way out of this moral dilemma, so she said, “Please be careful, and please know—if you need help, I will be there for you.”
“Miss Adams, I do know that, and I promise, I depend on you.”
She couldn’t force the man to take care, not without explaining everything she knew, and she suspected even then he would do what he thought best, regardless of his own safety. With a nod, she left him alone with his tea and headed toward maintenance to talk to someone sensible, well-balanced and with two X chromosomes. Birdie.
She took one of the resort’s ATVs and drove along the lighted paths. Ridiculous. She hadn’t really seen a ghost. What she’d seen had been an illusion brought on by… Well, she didn’t know what brought it on. Exhaustion. The strain of so much responsibility. Being pleasant to guests. If she had seen a ghost, could she outrun it in an ATV? It was a question that occupied her mind until she pulled up to the garage. She knocked loudly on the door, used her pass card, and as soon as she stepped into the tall, cool, echoing structure, she was glad she’d knocked.
Birdie stood in the loft above, her Glock in hand. “Come on up,” she said. “Bring hot chocolate, two marshmallows in mine.” And then she disappeared from the railing.
Kellen made two hot chocolates, and balancing them carefully, she made her way up the spiral staircase. She found Birdie sitting on the metal floor, surrounded by reams of paper. She handed over a mug. “Are we having fun yet?”
“Just for that, you can take that pile of car service manuals—” Birdie pointed “—put them in that cardboard box—” she pointed again “—and take it downstairs to the recycling bin.”
Kellen put down her chocolate and did as she was told. When Birdie got that look on her face, it was best to do as she said. When Kellen got back, she sat on the floor and sipped her chocolate. “Are you close to done?”
“I’m into the 1980s. If this is to be believed—” Birdie lifted one leather-bound manual “—someone here at the resort owned a 1981 Lamborghini Countach.”
“Some impressive vehicles at this resort. You’re saving that?” Kellen reached for it.
Birdie put it on her own desk. “You bet. What’s up?”
“Can’t I come by just for fun?”
“You can. And you do. But your shoulders are hunched and you’ve got that pinched-mouth expression.”
Kellen straightened her shoulders. “It’s cold. We’ve got a whopper of a storm coming in tomorrow morning. The staff is spooked.”
Birdie tossed another manual on the discard pile. “There’s more stuff going on than you can talk about.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t do uncertain very often.”
“In the war zones, the best I could hope for was that no one got killed and mutilated. Since I’ve been at the resort, I haven’t had to worry about that.”
“Until now.” Birdie picked up a little mimeographed booklet and flapped it at Kellen. “It’s the Cape Charade newspaper. Want to know what happened the week of July 17, 1984?”
“Nothing?”
Birdie looked it over. “Pretty much.” She threw it on the discard pile, too.
Kellen glanced around. “Where are the guys?”
Birdie opened her mouth as if to answer, then closed it.
Interesting. “You don’t do uncertain very often, either.”
“What I know—Mitch is on a date with the girl from the concierge desk, and lately I don’t like the way he talks about women. As if they’re a commodity.”
“Civilian life hasn’t improved him.” The two women contemplated that truth, then Kellen asked, “What about Temo? I saw him in the kitchen. He was weird. I wondered if he was having a party without me. But he wouldn’t have one without you, too.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Birdie shifted papers as if she needed to keep her hands busy. “Temo got back from LA, and he and Adrian have been sneaking around, whispering in corners. I wondered if discovering that corpse had disturbed Temo. He’s Hispanic and there’s that Day of the Dead thing…”
“It’s not that much different than Memorial Day,” Kellen pointed out. “They visit the graves, remember their dearly departed…”
“Are you kidding? Have you seen how they decorate the skull cakes?” Birdie shuddered. “I wouldn’t eat one of those things!”
“Sounds like Temo isn’t the only superstitious one.” Kellen thought of that pale face floating outside the window, and a quick, sharp shudder ran up her spine. “Did he tell you what happened in California?”
“A little. He was terse. I think with his mother in prison, he has to support his sister and you know how much it costs to live in California.”
“So…money problems?”
“Maybe. But what’s that got to do with Adrian? Why are they teaming up? Why are they avoiding me? And you.”
Temo would do anything for his little sister. He needed money to support her. Maybe he could bring her to Yearning Sands. But if Adrian was the Librarian’s assistant—he wasn’t smart, but he was good with heavy lifting—and if he had brought Temo into the operation, they’d have one smart guy who could fix anything. All of the logic worked. That didn’t mean it was true.
Birdie said, “We have so much work to do to get the resort and the vehicles ready for spring, and the guys are just…not here for me.”
“I’ll speak to them.”
“No. No. I think maybe it’s me.”
“You?” Kellen’s indignation rose. “Why are you blaming yourself?”
“I’m lonely and I’m sad. It makes them avoid me.” Birdie leaned her cheek against a stack of manuals. “The trouble with being a widow is you bear up at the beginning and tell everyone you’re okay, and eventually they believe you and go away. Then you’re alone and there’s nobody…forever.”
Kellen scooted over and rubbed Birdie’s back. Birdie had always been thin, but now every vertebrae felt as distinct as a piano key. The guys weren’t the only ones who had not been there for her. Kellen hadn’t realized, hadn’t thought, that Birdie had barely begun to grieve for her husband, that the shadow of his death would weigh on her for months and maybe years. “I’ll tell you what,” Kellen said. “When Leo and Annie get back, we’ll go on vacation, someplace warm and sunny, maybe one of the Di Luca California resorts. It would be good for both of us.” Kellen remembered tonight, and that flash of a white, dead face at the window. I don’t remember an entire year of my life. Perhaps Annie was right; Kellen needed to go somewhere else and relax. Right now, Yearning Sands wasn’t the safe haven she had hoped. “Does that sound good to you?”
Birdie nodded. “Maybe we can get Carson Lennex to drive us down.”
“What?” Kellen stopped rubbing.
Birdie lifted her head. “We store his car for him. He came by and asked if I’d tune it up, make sure it was road ready. He doesn’t fly, and he’s leaving soon on a trip.”
“Is he?” Kellen thought she kept her tone neutral.
But Birdie glared. “You don’t have to sound that way. I didn’t really mean to ask him if he’d drive us. That would be embarrassing, to treat a movie star like a cabdriver.”
How to warn her without giving offense? “I don’t know that I’d accept a ride from Carson Lennex even if he offered.”
Birdie’s thin spine snapped straight up. “Why not? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s an actor.” Kellen waved a cautiously dismissive hand. “He’s always wearing a mask, and no one can see beneath it.”
“He was nice and genuine! Honestly, you act like everyone’s out to get you. You’re not that important!”
Kellen caught her breath. That hurt. The tension, the death, the weather—it was eating at them all. “You’re right.” She tried for a little humor. “Only in my own mind.”
The outer door flew open, slammed shut. Temo called, “Birdie, are you here?”
Birdie looked at Kellen.
Kellen shook her head. She didn’t want to talk to Temo; in the kitchen, he had been dismissive of her.
Birdie stood and went over to the railing. “What do you need?”
Kellen heard him rattling around the worktables.
“I’ve got to pick up my tool belt, grab a few things and go to work.”
“Now? It’s dark!” Birdie leaned farther out. “Can’t it wait until morning?”
Kellen hunched down and waited in terror for the answer.
“I was gone. Things need to be done, and I have to keep this job.”
“Kellen won’t fire you for taking time for your family!”
Temo stopped rattling. “She doesn’t have family. She doesn’t understand what they are worth.” The rattling started again. “From now on, I’ll work as much as I can, when I can. That’s what has to be done, and I’m not stopping for anyone.”
Kellen wasn’t family to Temo. It sounded as if he didn’t even consider her much of a friend. And a shiny edge of Kellen’s fantasy crumbled away.