ShadowsintheMist (2 page)

I was excited but I tried not to sound like a schoolgirl on
her first date. This contract was the realization of my greatest dream. I was
being accepted as a writer on my own merits without benefit of any influence
from my father or his powerful name. With this goal achieved, I was now ready
to take on the world.

“They told me they might be interested in second novel,” I
added, as if it would make any difference.

“Charlotte Press.” He said the name as if it were melting
ice cream. “What the hell do they publish? Comic books?”

I felt my resolve begin to crumple. “They publish—” It was
too late. I knew what he would say and finished the sentence in barely a
whisper, “Romances.” I chewed my lower lip.

His bushy eyebrows flew up and he burst into laughter.

Molten rage welled up inside me and I turned on my heel to
go.

“Wait, Suzie!” He struggled to regain his composure. He blew
his nose and wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Romances,” he repeated to
himself.

I stood woodenly. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of
responding to his outburst.

“Well,” he said, his mirth now under control, “this is a
surprise! And has dear David helped you research this romance of yours?” His
sarcasm wasn’t lost. It was a vulgar thing to say and I knew he was baiting me
for a fight. Instead, I chose to ignore the implication, telling myself he must
indeed feel threatened to resort to such cruel tactics.

“I wish you’d try to understand,” I said, my voice much
calmer than I felt. “If you love me like you keep telling me you do…” I
stopped. Now I was sinking to his level.

His voice cut in like a thunderclap.

“Don’t you give me that, young lady! Everything I’ve ever
done was for you—and your mother, God rest her.” A fleeting shadow passed over
his face and as quick as his anger had erupted, it abated. He leaned back in
his chair, drained and suddenly old. He gazed at me, puzzled.

“Why won’t you come to me?” he asked. “Hell, I’d buy the
damn publishing company for you if that’s what you want! Why do you have to
grovel?”

I sighed. It was no use. How could I ever make him see I had
my own ambitions—needed to earn my own applause? He was so very brilliant in
his own world of import, export and finance and yet so very naїve when it
came to simple human nature.

As I looked into his confused eyes, I felt like weeping. “I’m
sorry, Daddy.” It was all I could manage and the helplessness of that utterance
only served to widen the vast chasm gaping between us. I could now see with
pinpoint clarity that we would always be strangers.

* * * * *

That was almost six months ago. Since then, I’d been back to
Beacon only once and stayed for less than three hours. Leo was away—a meeting
in Amsterdam or something. I couldn’t remember. I’d only returned to collect
some of my things and made certain I wouldn’t have to face him again. Tears
trickled down my cheeks now as I realized we’d never again have the opportunity
to patch up our differences.

David guided the car down the long gravel approach. The
house towered before us, a huge crouching lioness, impervious to wind or
weather. Gardens curled around a sleeping fountain. The flagpole stood stark
against the night sky, its empty rope clanking out a rhythm in the steady
breeze blowing in off Lake Michigan. The only signs of life were the lights
pouring from the downstairs windows and the floodlights that illuminated the
circular approach and portions of the carport and garage.

David pulled his aging Mercedes around in front of the steps
and I glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking. His face was shadowed and
expressionless. I gave a mental sigh. It was this very inscrutability that had
attracted me to him in the first place. David was always a paradox, a tower of
unreadable complexity, a challenge to my insatiable curiosity.

However, after a nine-year relationship fraught with
continuous power struggles and unresolved conflicts, I had somehow lost any
desire to understand him. As much as I admired him and wished I could be like
him, marriage to him would be a big mistake and I knew I was wise to break off
the engagement. Still, whenever I looked at him, I felt that dull ache of loss
and wished again there was some way that we could make it work.

Feeling my eyes on him, he turned and half-smiled. “Here we
are. I’ll let you off and look after your things. Colin and Alicia are inside
with Grant. They wanted to wait up for you.”

He held open the door and I sighed and stepped out. My eyes
found his and, for once, our thoughts found common ground. He took me into his
arms and held me close. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears back, wishing
I could stay there forever, safe from the confrontations waiting inside.

His lips brushed my hair, then he put me away from him. “It’ll
be all right,” he said. “You’ll see.”

I nodded acquiescence and took a deep breath to bolster my
wavering courage.

The great sweeping veranda of Beacon spread out before me,
skirted on all sides by gleaming white steps. I mounted them with leaden feet,
conscious of the stone lions’ crouch, their malevolent eyes watching me from
beneath all ten of the slim white pillars. I shivered. The ponderous, solid oak
door was adorned with another lion’s head, this one gripping a huge iron
knocker in its mouth. I tried not to look at it, fumbling in my purse for my
keys.

Without warning, the door swung open and light streamed out
blinding me.

“Suzanna, dear! I thought I heard David’s car. It does make
such a racket. It’s just as well we don’t have close neighbors. They’d
certainly complain, don’t you think? Oh, my, you must be simply devastated! All
this is just too shocking!”

“Alicia,” I managed to slip in as she drew a breath. “How are
you?”

I endured her embrace accompanied by the inevitable clink
and chink of a dozen bangles and the smell of heavy musk I guessed she bathed
in daily. Stepping past her into the foyer, I scanned the familiar
surroundings, ignoring her continuing prattle.

The entrance hall was impressive, to say the least. The
floor was a mirror of onyx tiles, black marbled with gold. The ceiling was
vaulted and decorated to excess with coffers of plaster cherubs and nymphs, all
delicately gilded and framed with twining grapevines or roses. A wide
staircase, carpeted in immaculate, impractical white, swept up to the second
floor gallery. Near me, against the wall, a rare Grecian urn was displayed on a
marble pedestal. The roses in it were wilting and a few petals lay scattered on
the floor. If Leo were here, those roses would not have been allowed to reach
such a state. It was tangible proof things weren’t as they should be.

Sliding double doors opened off either side of the hall—to
the left onto the living room, to the right onto what we grandly referred to as
the ballroom.

“You must come into the library,” Alicia was saying. “Grant
and Colin are waiting. No one wants to go into the den. It’s too close to where
it happened. The police were here for hours!”

“The police?”

“Why, yes! Of course, they said it was all routine but
still, it was simply ghastly with all those strangers crawling around…and the
questions! Why, it makes me dizzy. You must need a drink, love, to calm your
nerves.”

I accompanied her down the short spacious passage, marveling
anew at the vast differences between Alicia and Colin. Her propensity for the
dramatic was evident under any circumstances. Even her appearance screamed
Hollywood glitz. She was tall and overly thin with golden-bronze hair that frizzed
riotously to her shoulders.

Her eyes were almond-shaped and made very green with tinted
contact lenses. The lashes, which most certainly weren’t her own, fanned out
from lids defined in shades of aqua and mauve. Her nose was small and straight
over a kitten mouth, her lips carefully outlined and coated with a rich
tangerine gloss. Her hands were dainty with fingers made much longer by
perfectly manicured nails painted to match her lipstick. A collection of gold
and diamond rings winked and gleamed as she gestured erratically.

My half brother, Colin, had met Alicia on one of his jaunts
to California in the days when he was trying to be a jet-setter. She was a
would-be actress doing bit roles in soap operas and TV commercials to pay the
rent. I couldn’t guess what kind of spell she cast over Colin but after sharing
her apartment for only a few months, they drove to Los Vegas and were hastily
married.

Whether by choice or at Colin’s insistence, Alicia gave up
her acting career almost immediately and before the year was out, she was
installed at Beacon. That same year, Colin and David hatched out a plan to open
a chartered fishing business. Thrilled that Colin was finally making an effort
to curb his irresponsible ways, Leo loaned them the capital to get the enterprise
off the ground.

I don’t know exactly when Alicia started to drink but the
alcohol was beginning to leave its marks on her fine features. The makeup she
used no longer hid the smudges beneath her eyes or the tiny lines at the
corners of her mouth. She seemed to be growing thinner by the day so her
clothes, despite being the height of fashion, hung limply on her.

Colin and David were doing reasonably well with their
business from what I could tell. They acquired two new cabin cruisers and
opened a sideline canoe rental for the Pere Marquette River. It meant nothing
to Alicia, however. She still lived for the day when she could return to the
stage.

Alicia’s unpredictable moods and incessant chatter were
tolerated by everyone more out of pity than any magnanimous feeling of
goodwill. It was common knowledge that Colin was jealous and viewed her career
as a threat. If she blamed him, though, she never said so. Instead, she
invented her own little world to live in and ignored the hopelessness of her
existence. I could almost empathize with her. I knew what it was like to live
under the smothering influence of a domineering man.

“Everyone is positively strung out, Suzanna,” she was
saying. “Poor Colin is still suffering from the shock. It was Colin and David
who found him, you know. He was just floating there in the pool. They thought
he was dead already but…” She glanced sideways at me. I didn’t respond but
pushed open the mahogany doors and stepped into the library.

Colin stood gazing at the bookshelves, his hands thrust into
his pockets, absently jangling coins and keys. His shirt was wrinkled at the
back and his curly brown hair was matted on one side.

He was every inch his mother’s son. Only his short, husky
build belied his paternity. His nose was thick and slightly crooked from a
break that happened during his school days. His complexion was pale with
strain, accentuating the shadow of stubble on his chin. Though his eyes were
wide-set and colored an indistinct hazel-brown, the thick fringe of lashes softened
them and made them, in my opinion, his most endearing feature.

Across the room was Grant Fenton, my father’s right-hand
man. He leaned against the bar, one foot propped on the chrome rail that ringed
its base. He wasn’t a tall man but was well-proportioned with a broad chest and
tapered waist. He was dressed in faded denims and a burgundy shirt and, like
Colin, hadn’t shaved. His dark brown hair was sun-streaked with auburn and
stood on end as though he’d been running his hands through it. His eyes, in
contrast to his weathered complexion, were a startling marine blue and despite
the lines of fatigue creasing his face, they always lit with amusement when he
looked at me. It was a reflex I resented deeply.

Now his gaze unnerved me and I felt an uncontrollable blush
creep up my neck to my cheeks. It would be just like him to make some sarcastic
remark. Instead, he merely sloshed a healthy portion of brandy into a snifter
and extended it in my direction. “Here, Suzie, you look as though you could use
this.”

I crossed the room and accepted the drink with a polite
murmur.

“We would’ve called you,” Colin said, perching on the arm of
a chair, “but I understand your little hideaway didn’t provide the modern
convenience of a phone. And your cell phone wasn’t working.” His voice was
petulant.

“I turned it off,” I replied. “I wanted it that way.”

I knew Colin was baiting me. I felt defensive but refused to
be drawn into a quarrel at a time like this. It seemed as though everyone was
accusing me—as though my absence had somehow caused Leo’s accident. I gulped a
bit of the brandy and grimaced as it burned its way down my throat.

“He was such a wonderful man,” Alicia piped up. Reclining
cat-like on the settee, she downed the remainder of her martini and waved the
empty glass at Colin. “Darling, do be a love and fetch me another. I’m simply a
nervous wreck.”

Colin rose to accommodate her, more out of habit I guessed,
than a sense of duty.

“I still don’t understand how this could’ve happened,” I
said quietly.

“Why my dear, surely David told you?” Alicia warmed to the
subject. “It was all a horrible accident. You know how your father loved to
swim in the evenings? Well, he must’ve tripped on something and hit his head on
the side of the pool—”

“Oh, shut up, Alicia,” Colin barked. “Dad was drunk. We all
know that. He was also fully clothed, so I doubt he intended to take a ‘dip’.”
He handed his wife the martini and sat down beside her, roughly shoving her
sprawled legs aside. She shrugged, unperturbed.

Grant was silent, staring intently at his brandy but I
sensed an undercurrent. What are they hiding? I looked from one face to the
next but they avoided my eyes. I opened my mouth to demand an explanation but
was put off when David appeared in the doorway.

“I’ve taken your bags to your room, Suzanna,” he said,
oblivious to the tension. “I’ll have someone bring your car back tomorrow.”