I had to talk to Belle. It was no longer solely a matter of discovering what happened to Richard. It was, imperatively, urgently, a matter of Belle’s safety. Yes, I could remain silent about what I knew when it was a question of vengeance. I could not remain silent now.
Last year someone in a very small, intimate circle—her husband, one of her children or stepchildren, her son’s wife, her secretary—one of them tampered with the brakes on her car.
The first face that flashed in my mind was that of her husband. I couldn’t be certain, but there seemed no plausible reason why Elise Ford and Keith Scanlon should quarrel—bitterly, clandestinely—unless they were involved in an affair. Did Scanlon want to break off the affair? It figured. He’d had a pattern through his life of inconstancy. But no matter whether he enjoyed running a tennis center, he obviously enjoyed being married to a very wealthy woman. But perhaps he was tired not only of his lover but of his wife. He could go home to Texas much more comfortably as a fabulously wealthy widower.
Anders Burke was obsessed with protecting animals. Was there a limit to Belle’s largesse to the foundation, a limit that would ease with her death and his inheritance? Anders was still jealous of his dead sister. Had he resented Belle’s tenderness for CeeCee enough to plan the kidnapping and murder?
Joss Burke wanted to stay in Hollywood. Had he killed his sister to win the freedom to go there? Would he kill his mother to win the wealth to stay there?
Wheeler Gallagher was high maintenance. Belle was a generous stepmother. No doubt he would have access to even more money if she died. Had CeeCee finally told Wheeler they were finished, that she was going to leave him behind forever for Stan Dugan?
Megan Gallagher starved herself to be free. But models have a very short life of fame and riches. Would she shorten Belle’s life to have the money to be free always? “What price freedom?” she’d asked me. Perhaps she knew the answer. But it was she who told me about the brakes in Belle’s car.
Gretchen Gallagher needed money. Gretchen resented her father’s marriage to Belle. And Gretchen, too, won freedom when CeeCee died.
Elise Ford was involved with Keith Scanlon. To what length would she go to have him to herself? To be chatelaine of Ahiahi? Or could it be even darker? Had Keith spurned her to return to his wife and was Elise consumed with jealousy?
Or, in the swirl of conflicting desires and emotions at Ahiahi, the attempt on Belle’s life could be independent of CeeCee’s murder. I went back and forth, uncertain, sure only that Belle, unaware, was stalked by deadly peril.
I was determined to face Belle that day. I returned to Ahiahi with that one goal in mind.
Belle was gone.
Elise was apologetic. “Belle was so sorry you weren’t here. She especially wanted you to come. There’s a wonderful coffeehouse in Kalaheo. But they should be back by mid-afternoon.” Belle had left just before noon with Gretchen and Megan.
“And the others?”
“Oh,” she said carelessly, “some are here and some aren’t.” Elise’s voice was pleasant, but there were dark shadows under her eyes. “It’s all very casual, Mrs. Collins.”
Casual. And frightening. But Belle should be safe with Megan and Gretchen. It was tonight that concerned me and the remainder of the nights while this gathering lasted. This was the dangerous period, while all the family was here.
I didn’t know what I would say to Belle, what I should say to Belle. Should I reveal all of it, including my suspicions about Keith and Elise? Or should I focus on CeeCee and Richard’s trip here in search of CeeCee’s killer? I didn’t know.
I was too restless simply to await Belle’s return. I wandered about Ahiahi.
I found Amelia in the kitchen, conferring with the cook. I waited until she walked out to the garden.
“Amelia?”
She turned, looked at me gravely. I think she knew why I wanted to see her.
“Ma’am.” She waited attentively, but her dark eyes were troubled.
“The night my husband died and you were awake quite late, whom did you see?” I kept my voice even, quiet, unemotional, as if this were a simple piece of information, nothing to remark.
She was reluctant. Yet, why should she be? Unless she too thought Richard’s fall was no accident. But the questioning look in her eyes surprised me. Shocked me a little. I realized she was suspicious of me, of my motives. Why had I come? And what mischief did I intend?
It’s odd to realize you’ve been misinterpreted entirely. It made me wonder what discussions might have ensued among the staff.
“Mrs. Collins.” She was still polite, but for the first time she spoke to me as an individual, not as Belle’s employee. “Anyone can be awake late at night. Especially as you get older. Yes, I saw someone. I’d gone to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of camomile tea. Mr. Mackey was on the lanai by the reflecting pool.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t believe so. I had my tea and was carrying it back to my rooms.” Her voice was firm.
But Lester Mackey had no reason late at night to be on that lanai. Was he going to go to Richard? Or had Lester seen someone else abroad at that very late hour and followed to see what was happening? Did Lester see someone go to Richard’s suite?
Lester saw someone or something. But not enough to make him suspect murder when Richard died. Especially since Lester did not want to make that linkage. He’d resisted until Belle’s “accident.” That frightened him, caused him to entice me here.
“If that is all, Mrs. Collins…”
I looked at Amelia. I suppose my face was grim. “Yes. That’s all, Amelia.”
She gave me a sharp, thoughtful look, then moved quietly away.
The hard thwock of tennis balls led me to the clay courts. Stan and Joss, their faces dangerously red, their sweaty clothes clinging to them, played tennis as if the future of the world depended upon the outcome. I walked on and found Peggy sunning by the pool.
Peggy looked at me like an African villager sighting a marauding leopard. “What do you want?” She pulled the lime-green beach towel up to her chin. The childlike gesture almost touched me until I balanced it with her swiftness to lie when she thought Anders was threatened and her creativity, claiming that CeeCee had approved the plan for the animal refuge that last Friday afternoon.
“A little more truth and a little less lies.” I pushed a chair into the shade of the umbrella, its canvas rippling in the breeze. Jacaranda blossoms floated in the pool. Pretty, but a hazard for the filters.
The sweet, summery scent of coconut oil wafted toward me as she struggled to sit up. The towel slipped down. Her skin had a bright, greasy sheen, and her hair clung to her head in damp, limp ringlets. “It is the truth. CeeCee decided the refuge was absolutely a wonderful idea.”
I looked at her dispassionately. It was almost too easy. The old when-you-hear-this-word-what’s-the-first-thing-that-comes-to-mind game. Yes, Peggy was quite willing to lie, but she had yet to learn how to dissemble. If I’d had any doubts about her creative recall, this settled them. That made Joss’s ingenuous support quite interesting.
But maybe I could pan a little truth from Peggy’s lies. “At breakfast yesterday—”
It might be a mundane beginning, but it certainly had Peggy’s full attention.
“—you said CeeCee told you that she’d given her engagement ring back to Stan.”
“That was after we’d talked about the refuge.” Peggy’s eyes glistened with cunning.
Oh, Peggy. Would a woman who’d just broken her engagement start a conversation with a discussion of charitable plans?
“Did CeeCee call you?”
“Yes. About two-thirty.” Peggy was comfortable here.
Sifting the truth wasn’t going to be hard. CeeCee had returned from the lunch where she—or Stan—had ended their engagement and she called her best friend.
“Was CeeCee upset?”
Peggy nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes. Or she wouldn’t have called me.” Peggy’d forgotten for a moment about the refuge. “Of course CeeCee kept her cool. She just said she and Stan were through and she’d tell me all about it at the lake.” She smoothed the towel over her lap. “But her voice was shaking.”
“What about Wheeler?”
Peggy’s prim face shifted and there was a sudden sexual light in her eyes. “Oh.” She looked at me with respect. “How did you know about that?”
“I suppose it wasn’t common knowledge.”
“No.” Peggy picked up a corner of the towel, pleated it in her fingers. “They had a thing for each other.” There was a tiny edge of envy in her voice. “But CeeCee simply couldn’t face Belle. Not about Wheeler. Because Belle always made so much fuss about the great, wonderful family. I told CeeCee over and over that Wheeler wasn’t her brother. I mean, that’s silly. They were teenagers when they met. And that’s what happened, of course. Right from the first…” Again, that little surge of envy. “Of course, they had to keep it hidden then. You know how adults are about sex!” For a moment it was as though she were a teenager again in a secret world. “And they kept it a secret for so many years and acted like brother and sister and that made it, well, like it was wrong. CeeCee kept trying to fall in love, one guy after another. But she always came back to Wheeler. I thought it was going to be okay when she met Stan.” She looked at me earnestly. “CeeCee really fell for him. I don’t know what happened.”
I did. If Stan’s story was true.
But it could have happened just a little differently. Instead of Stan asking for the ring, maybe CeeCee returned it because she’d decided, after all was said and done, that she loved Wheeler and that she would have him no matter what.
And how might Stan Dugan have reacted to that?
But why would Stan have hired a private detective? And why last night would he have pummeled the “witnesses” about CeeCee’s last day?
There was always the possibility of a twist within a twist within a twist.
Stan Dugan could have hired a private detective because it was the kind of action a flamboyant, bereaved trial lawyer might be expected to take when the crime wasn’t solved.
And last night Stan could have been playing to me, the retired reporter reputed to be an expert on crime. If Stan took the dossiers from my room, he would certainly be likely to think I was after more than material for a book. And his performance last night could be a charade of innocence. But Stan wasn’t here last year when the brakes went out in Belle’s car. Still, it was always possible that the attempt on Belle’s life had nothing to do with CeeCee’s kidnapping.
Peggy watched me warily.
I wasn’t finished with her. “Did CeeCee say anything about Wheeler to you?”
“Not a word. Just that she would tell me everything at the lake.”
That seemed to be that. I stood. Then, as an afterthought, I asked, “Did she mention Belle?”
“Not then.”
Reporters are persistent. It’s not a habit you lose. “When?”
“The night before. There was a dinner in Belle’s honor at the Adolphus. Some donation she’d made. And when Belle walked up to receive the plaque, CeeCee had a strange look on her face—half sad and half mad. She said, ‘I won’t see Mother taken advantage of. It’s just rotten. I won’t!’ Then Belle began to speak. After dinner, CeeCee left with Stan. So I didn’t have a chance to ask her what she meant. But that was the night before.”
The next morning, CeeCee asked her mother what she would do if someone she loved was unfaithful. That evening CeeCee drove up to the lake. Belle would be coming. There would be ample opportunity for CeeCee to speak with her mother. And tell her that her husband was an adulterer?
Rotten. Yes, that put it very well indeed.
Joss sprawled on a chaise deep in the shadow of an arbor covered with bougainvillea. I stepped into the dusky enclosure. I looked around.
He opened his eyes, regarded me without enthusiasm. “If you’re looking for Stan, he’s gone.”
“You lost?”
“The bastard’s serve jumps around like a clown on a pogo stick.” He mopped his face with a towel.
“Really? I’d have thought he’d go for power.”
“Oh, he does,” Joss said sourly. “Just about the time you’ve got the damn corkscrew serve figured out, he barrels one right down the center line.”
“Stan found out about CeeCee and Wheeler. Just before she went to the lake.”
Joss pushed up, swung his feet to the flagstones, scrubbed his wet hair with the towel. Then he stood, grabbing his racquet. “Should be a pretty choice part of your book. Sex sells every time.” His parting glance was derisive.
As he walked past, I said, “So maybe you didn’t have to lie for Anders.”
He shook his head and kept on walking.
I listened as the sound of his footsteps faded.
Did Joss confirm Peggy’s story that CeeCee agreed to the animal refuge because he was afraid for Anders, afraid for the driven brother who cared more about animals than people?
Or did Joss lie because he knew very well that Anders was innocent? If Joss killed CeeCee to gain his freedom to go to Hollywood, he knew better than anyone in the world that Anders was innocent.
Had Joss really told CeeCee he was leaving the foundation? No one else knew of it. And it was becoming clear to me that this close-knit group of siblings and stepsiblings knew a very great deal about one another.
If only I could pull from one, then another, enough scraps of knowledge to piece together what happened to CeeCee as she waited for the joke to unfold that chilly spring evening at the lake.
We stood on the lanai outside Belle’s office. On the day I arrived at Ahiahi, she had pointed to the grove of kukui trees where Richard’s body had been found. I glanced down at the light-colored leaves, then faced Belle.
She was turned a little to one side and I couldn’t see her cane. She looked quite young in a cerise tunic and slacks. A sprig of silver hair had escaped from her chignon. She brushed it back, looked at me with a smile. The smile slowly faded. Her fine-boned face was abruptly alert. “Yes?”
We looked fully at each other and there was uncertainty in both our gazes. She sensed this was no social approach, and I still struggled with what I should say.
I hadn’t known how I would begin. I’d left it to my heart. I heard my words without surprise, with a sense of completion.
“Richard was murdered, Belle.” My hands curled into fists. “Pushed off the cliff trail. Because he knew who kidnapped and killed CeeCee.”
The muscles in her face tightened until the cheekbones and chin were sharp and pointed like a vixen’s muzzle. Her eyes glittered with shock. Whatever she had expected, it was not this, never this.
I’ve never talked faster, harder. I began with the poster that yanked me from my carefully rebuilt life, took me to Dallas and the lake, and brought me ultimately to Ahiahi. I told her about Lester Mackey and the letter he received and the joke he and Johnnie Rodriguez had played on CeeCee and how they left her in a shabby little rental cabin with the picnic basket. I told her about Johnnie and how he liked to wander along the country lanes in the dark. I told her about Richard’s trip to the lake to talk to Johnnie. “Then Richard came here and—”
Belle held up her hand. “Wait.” She walked into her study, punched an intercom. “Lester. Come to my office. Now.” Simple words, spoken with terrible restraint and a deadly intensity. She walked back to the lanai, her face as still and cold as a frozen landscape.
“Belle, I’m almost sure that Lester has an idea—”
Once again she held up her hand, the flesh so thin it was almost translucent. Her wedding ring, a double row of diamonds, flashed in the afternoon sun.
Belle Ericcson was accustomed to command. Had I continued to speak, she would not have listened. Could I have battered past her resistance? Should I have kept on talking, told her of the jealousies and passions among the children she loved, the unfaithfulness of her husband, the treachery of her employee, the faintheartedness of the loyal subordinate who’d been there—sometimes unwisely—for the children as they grew up?
But I stood silent. She would only listen when she had proof. And Lester Mackey would be her proof. Her heart refused to listen to me. This was a woman who had suffered terribly and I was now bringing her more suffering with the brutal accusation that someone she loved and trusted had robbed her of her first child, taken a vivid life and snuffed it out behind the facade of laughter. I was insisting that there was a false face among the family gathered about her, that behind a familiar countenance burned a murderous passion that was not yet satisfied.
Was it any wonder she would not listen?
Rubber slippers slapped softly on the garden walkway. Lester walked into the study.
Belle lifted her cane imperiously.
Lester saw me. His gaze checked for an instant, moved on to Belle. “Yes, Belle. Do you need me?” His faded eyes squinted against the sun spilling in from the lanai.
“I want the truth, Lester. Through all the years, I’ve known I could count on you. Always.” Her eyes implored him. “What happened to CeeCee?” She held the knob of her cane with both hands, leaned on it.
His look of startled surprise was perfect. “But—” He was a study in bewilderment. “Belle, why are you asking me?” His whispery voice was calm, unworried.
Belle drew a deep breath. “Do you swear to me, Lester, do you swear on the night we met outside the bar in Saigon, do you swear to me that you don’t know what happened to CeeCee?”
Their eyes met and held.
“Belle, I swear to you, I don’t know what happened.”
I heard the faintest, telltale emphasis on the third from last word.
“Lester—” The cry was wrung from me.
They both turned toward me.
I knew even as I reached out toward him that this moment was exacting a dreadful toll from Lester Mackey. His face was white and rigid.
“Lester, you know Belle’s in danger. Please, we—”
“That’s enough.” Belle’s voice was as sharp and thin as the crack of a whip.
I took a step toward her. “Belle, every word I’ve—”
“—said is a lie.” She looked at me with cold, remote, reproving eyes. “It’s time for you to go. You came with a lie, that’s how you’re leaving. For Richard’s sake, I will try to believe that you are sincere, that you believe this demented tale. But I will not have you in my home. Please, leave now.”
She turned away, her cane clicking on the hardwood floor.
And I heard the whisper of thongs—
I whirled around. “Lester, Lester…”
But he was gone, my desperate cry to no avail. And Belle had ordered me to leave.
I was to be banished. And Belle was still at risk.
All the way down the mountain, red dust flying from beneath the jeep’s wheels, I struggled with indecision. What to do first, where to go, what possible recourse I had.
First things first. I must do what I could to keep Belle safe for the coming night. I drove directly to Keith Scanlon’s tennis center. He was teaching on a near court. I waited near a fragrant, glossy-leaved plumeria. The sweet smell, always recalling welcoming leis and happier days, caught at my heart. Once Richard and I had arrived in this lovely land and walked hand in hand and smelled this special, particular scent. We’d come to paradise, though we knew that paradise existed within ourselves, waiting to be found. And now—
Keith’s suntanned face was wreathed in a satisfied smile. He clicked off the ball machine. “Good work, Tim. I’ll see you after school on Monday.”
The lithe teenager flashed a grin. “Okay, Keith.”
Keith Scanlon was married to one of the world’s richest women. But on Saturday afternoon he was ending up a lesson at his tennis complex.
I wasn’t surprised. A man who’s cheating on his wife always finds reason not to be home.
Keith wound up the cord, covered the ball machine with a tarp. He was whistling as he came through the gate.
I stepped into the path.
“Hi, Henrie O. Looking for a game?” A smile wreathed his face.
For a moment, his welcome shocked me. Then I realized he had no idea I was an outcast and absolutely no idea I knew about him and Elise.
I didn’t smile in return, however. Bonhomie wasn’t my goal.
“Keith, as you will discover when you return to Ahiahi, I am no longer a guest. But I want to make absolutely clear to you—without any possibility of your mistaking me—that if anything happens to Belle, now or in the future, any kind of clever accident like the brakes going out in her car, I will immediately contact the Kauai police and tell them all about you and Elise.”
I whirled and walked swiftly away.
I didn’t have to look behind me to know he was staring after me as if I’d sprouted horns.
I didn’t give a damn.
I checked into the Poipu Beach Hyatt Regency, glad to find a vacancy. I ate an early dinner in my room, picking at a salad I didn’t want, forcing myself finally to choke down one of the high energy bars I always carry with me when I travel. My mind churned with possibilities. I knew that only a confession from Lester would convince Belle. I had to persuade Lester Mackey to tell the truth. Somehow I had to reach Lester, force him to admit the truth: There was a killer at Ahiahi. And I had to convince Lester now. Tonight.
The lobby of the Hyatt Regency is as lush as any tropical jungle. The screech of the clipped-wing parrots on their bars pierced the squeal of running children and the animated chatter from the various bars. I wasn’t interested in a drink. I wanted to be as alert as I’ve ever been this night. I wandered restlessly around the meandering lagoon until night fell.
Finally, it was time to go.
I left all traffic behind me when I turned on the cane road. I drove past the barred entrance. I nosed into a narrow gap in the cane not far from the gate. I left the jeep well-hidden.
I walked back to the gate and slipped past it, easy to do on foot. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight for me to walk up the road without using my flash. I wore my navy blouse and slacks and jogging shoes.
It was a long, steep ascent and it took me almost an hour to reach the parking area outside Ahiahi. There was plenty of light there, of course, light that I avoided. I slipped around the edge of the parking area, my objective the stucco wall that marked the perimeter of the grounds.
I wasn’t surprised to find a freshly mown grassy border on the outside of the wall. It wasn’t necessary. But it was nice. The very rich always enjoy the best of manicured surroundings. Nor did it surprise me finally, in an inconspicuous corner at the far end of the tennis courts, to find a toolshed and an entryway from the outside to the sports area. There was room for gardeners to maneuver lawn mowers easily in and out.
I heard again the solid thump of well-hit tennis balls. The lights shone down on the first court. I stepped softly, avoiding the shell path, and moved closer, keeping behind a line of ten-foot hibiscus. Enough light slanted through the leaves for me to realize I was walking along the edge of a croquet lawn. Between the lawn and the shrubs were several bricked areas with benches. I wormed my way between two shrubs until I could see the court and hear Gretchen and Wheeler as they talked in short bursts between points.
“…think we can do anything about it?”
Gretchen served and the ball went wide. Her second serve was a soft shot that Wheeler returned to the backhand court, far out of her reach.
“No. But it isn’t the book that bothers me.” She served and they rallied until she curved a lob behind him to the baseline. “Right now Belle’s furious. But first there was Stan and his crazy stuff about CeeCee’s last hours, then this Collins woman claiming one of us planned CeeCee’s kidnapping, then killed her husband, for God’s sake. Of course, Lester showed her up for a liar. But what if Belle starts thinking there’s something to it?”
Wheeler scrambled back. He got his racket on the ball, but it spun lazily over the backstop. “Oh, she won’t. It’s crazy. Don’t worry about it.”
Gretchen pulled a ball from beneath her tennis skirt. She served and Wheeler hit into the net. She took the last two points, slamming one overhead, making an ace. “Thanks, Wheeler, that was fun. God, it’s nice to have fun sometimes.”
At the bench, as they slid their rackets into covers, Wheeler said abruptly, “I heard Belle and Mrs. Collins this afternoon.” His hand tightened around the handle of his racket. His face was suddenly heavy and somber, all traces of pleasure gone. “I remember one time—” He broke off, stared down at the ground.
“What, Wheeler?” There was an odd note in his sister’s voice.
“Lester. One time when I was back from college. I was drunk and I had a wreck. Nobody was hurt, thank God, but I would’ve lost my license. I drove away, made it home. The next morning, Lester told Belle he’d run the car into that big oak tree at the foot of the drive.” Wheeler lifted his eyes to his sister, eyes full of misery and pain.
“Lester wouldn’t—” Gretchen’s hair shimmered as she shook her head violently. “Lester wouldn’t!”
“Lester’s lied for all of us.” His voice was deep and harsh. “But this time, oh, Jesus, this time—if one of us killed CeeCee, I swear I’ll rip the world apart to find out. I will.” His face was savage. He lifted the racket, brought it down with all his might against the wooden bench, then whirled toward the gate.
“Wheeler. Wheeler!” But he was gone.
Gretchen had to know about Wheeler and CeeCee They all knew, everyone but Belle. But perhaps Gretchen hadn’t realized how inconsolable was his grief. She stood alone on the beautiful red clay court, her shoulders slumped, staring forlornly after her brother.
“Oh, Wheeler, dammit, she wasn’t worth it! Wheeler, she wasn’t!” There was a sob in Gretchen’s voice.
I could hear its echo long after she walked out of the tennis enclosure.
I waited a good half hour before I slipped through the gate. I didn’t encounter any other residents of Ahiahi. I went directly to the suite where I’d stayed. I took off my running shoes and walked in my socks across the room. The bottoms of the shoes would be stained by red dirt from my climb up the mountain road. I didn’t want to leave any trace, anywhere.
I was confident I could remain in my former suite undisturbed and undetected. This was a week for family only at Ahiahi. Except for Stan Dugan, I had been the only intruder. The suite would have been cleaned after my departure and there was no reason for anyone to come to it.
I settled on a very comfortable chaise longue on the lanai. And now I must wait until quiet reigned, until no one was abroad. I knew Stan Dugan was likely to wander to the pool table when it was late. But I could slip past unseen on the cliff path.
As I waited, I looked out across the night-shrouded valley, the shadows so deep and dark that the hillsides looked like piles of coal. Above, the stars seemed close enough to touch, as coldly lovely as pearls. The falls glistened in the moonlight like strands of silver Christmas foil. Their roar pulsed against me.
“Richard.”
There was no one there to hear my call. I knew that. I don’t believe in conjuring up the dead.
I do believe in memory.
A memory came, as sudden and inexplicable as the burst of joy that can lift your soul when touched by beauty. We all can remember such moments: the drone of cicadas and the smell of wet earth on an August afternoon; an unexpected smile and the touch of your mother’s hand; coming around a bend in the road to see a farmhouse at once so familiar and so strange your heart almost stops…we all remember moments like these, when the world is touched by magic.
I had a sudden picture of Richard lifting Emily high in the air. She was two and we were picnicking by a placid pond and as he whirled around with her, I could see their moving reflection in the water.
That was all. The moment was gone. I don’t remember now where that picnic was or what we ate that day or why Richard swung his daughter so high.
As long as I have memory, I can live.
Memories. Perhaps that’s how I would approach Lester Mackey. I had to reach him, to touch his heart. What happened the night he and Belle met? That was a special memory for her. I knew it would be a special memory for him.
Somehow, tonight, I would reach—
It was only a whisper of sound, but it wasn’t the falls, wasn’t the rustle of the ever bending foliage.
I slipped to my feet, moved quietly to the railing.
My lanai was dark. But, as always, the rim of lights along the cliff path lighted the way. The moving figure was still dark, indistinguishable. But I knew who was passing. Only Stan Dugan was that tall, walked with that long a stride.
He rounded the bluff.
This path reached a fork. One way led to the tennis courts and the pool, the other to CeeCee’s grave.
I thought I knew his destination.
It was almost an hour later that I heard him returning, an hour I’d spent thinking and planning, though I knew there wasn’t much I could plan now.
At midnight, I went to the bottom of the steps, put on my jogging shoes. I had a flashlight in my pocket. I didn’t think I would need it. I walked quietly along the cliff path, pausing occasionally to listen, but there were only the sounds of the night, the rumble of the falls and the sighing of the trees. I was utterly attuned to this moment, moving with care and caution, looking into every shadow, listening with the intensity of a fugitive.
I breathed more easily when I was past the public rooms of the house and reached the steps to the narrow passageway by the kitchen.
I stopped once again, took off my shoes, tied the laces together and hung them around my neck. I moved up the steps in my stocking feet.
Dim lights burned. Ahiahi was not a house that would ever drowse in total darkness. But there was no movement, no sound of voices, no hint that anyone else was awake.
Still, I was careful. Anyone else abroad would also treat this as a sleeping house, refrain from making any noise.
But I felt quite easy when I reached the garden. I was almost there. Almost there, almost there, the phrase danced in my mind. Once again, I slipped into my shoes.
A lamp burned dimly at the edge of Lester’s lanai. A golden swath of light flared through his open archway. So Lester was still awake.
I damn well hoped he was having trouble sleeping, that he was wrestling with the enormity of his lie, that he was beginning to worry and wonder how he could protect Belle.
He had to have a plan, of course. He loved Belle. He’d used his sensitive artist’s skill to create the dark message that brought me here. I knew he cared. Surely he would realize that Belle’s life was more important—if it came to that—than his cherished place in the family.
Of course, he knew Belle much better than I. Perhaps he was certain she would never forgive him.
I didn’t know if she was a forgiving woman.
But I would do my best to persuade Lester that she was.
I reached the open doorway. I took off my shoes, carried them in one hand.
The high-backed chair almost obscured him where he sat at the desk. It was so quiet. I wondered if he had fallen asleep.
My stocking feet made very little sound on the bare wooden floor. Certainly not enough to wake a sleeper. But I knew before I circled around the desk that Lester Mackey was not asleep.
Lester Mackey was dead.