River Road(53)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

He ripped the pillow out of her hand and pulled her down across his chest. He wrapped one hand around the back of her head and brought her mouth closer to his.

“Tonight is different,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

He kissed her. She went with him once again into the night.

31

Mason savored his second cup of coffee, along with the morning coastal fog, the last bite of a waffle doused in butter and syrup and the sight of Lucy sitting on the other side of the breakfast table. He could get used to mornings like this one.

Every time he looked at Lucy, which was pretty much all the time, hot memories of the night stirred his blood. It felt good to be here with her in the small café, looking forward to another day together. More than anything else at the moment, he wanted to be able to look forward to another night together. But he knew that wasn’t going to be possible, at least not immediately. The situation in Summer River had to be cleaned up before he and Lucy could figure out their relationship.

Her phone rang just as he was about to polish off the waffle. At least it wasn’t another one of the damned chirps that indicated a message from the matchmaking agency. But Lucy frowned when she glanced at the screen, and he knew the prospect of a really good day had just gone south.

“Yes, this is Lucy Sheridan. . . . No, I’m out of town. . . . Yes, I plan to return to Summer River today. . . . I see. . . . Good heavens, are they sure? . . . I understand. . . . Yes, of course, but I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what is going on.” She glanced at her watch. “We should be there by noon. . . . Yes, Mr. Fletcher is with me. . . . Where? We’re over on the coast. . . . Yes, all night. . . . One o’clock today. Fine. We’ll both come down to the station.”

She ended the call and looked at Mason. “That was Chief Whitaker. The fire investigators went to Sara’s house this morning. They found a body in the ashes.”

“Damn.” Mason felt the old familiar chill. The past had come back to haunt someone in Summer River. That was the way it always was with cold cases. They never really went away. They shadowed the living until they were closed. Methodically, he finished the bite of waffle and put down his fork. “Do they have an ID?”

“No.” Lucy hesitated, her eyes darkening with anxiety. “The body was badly burned, but there are some indications that it’s Nolan Kelly. Chief Whitaker says no one has seen him since he left his office late yesterday afternoon. They found his car parked in the woods about a quarter of a mile away.”

“Huh.”

“It’s horrible to think about. I was talking to him there in my kitchen yesterday morning, and now he’s dead. What a ghastly way to die.”

“Assuming he was killed by the fire.”

She blinked. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet. Just asking questions. Do the investigators believe that Kelly set the fire and got caught in the blaze?”

“Whitaker didn’t say. There’s going to be an autopsy.”

“It may not tell them much if the body was badly burned.”

“What on earth was he doing in my house in the middle of the night?”

“No way to know yet, but I can think of one possible theory.” Mason raised his hand to signal for the check. “Kelly may have been the intruder who searched the house the previous night. He didn’t find what he was looking for, so he went back a second time to try to destroy any evidence that might have been hidden inside.”

“Evidence that would have proven that he was the photographer who helped Brinker?”

“Maybe. But there are other possibilities.”

“Such as?”

The waiter approached with the check. Mason reached for his wallet. “Kelly was in sales his whole life. He started out dealing pot in high school. According to the rumors, Brinker made some kind of hallucinogen available to his inner circle. And if he was the Scorecard Rapist, we know he used drugs to subdue his victims.”

“Do you think Nolan was supplying Brinker with the drugs?”

“Brinker was getting those pricey designer pharmaceuticals from someone. He was probably too smart to make the deals himself, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he convinced Kelly to get the drugs for him, assuming Kelly had the connections.”

A visible shiver went through Lucy. “Kelly was only eighteen at the time, just a couple years older than me.”

“Brinker was in the business of attracting and manipulating young people.” Mason put some money down on the table. “When you think about it, he was running a kind of cult, preaching a religion that featured sex, drugs and rock music. All the simple pleasures of youth.”

32

Leonard Whitaker was in his early sixties. He had left a mid-sized police department in Southern California to take over the Summer River department five years earlier, and he made no secret of the fact that he was looking forward to retirement in another year. He wanted what he called the Sheridan situation cleaned up before he stepped down.

These days, everyone was concerned about the legacy thing, Lucy thought.

Whitaker asked a lot of questions, which she dutifully answered while Mason stood behind her, one shoulder propped against the wall, arms folded. He did not interfere in the questioning, but he made his presence felt. Like a bodyguard, she thought.

She did her best to answer Whitaker’s questions, but most of her responses were variations on I don’t know.

At the end of the interview, Whitaker lounged back in his chair and studied Lucy over the rims of his reading glasses. “One more time, Miss Sheridan. Are you absolutely certain you have no idea why Kelly wanted to torch your house?”

“I told you, all I can give you are speculations,” she said quietly. “I suppose it’s possible that he thought there was something in the house that connected him to Brinker and the past, but I have no proof.”

“We’re looking into that angle,” Whitaker said. “What about the house itself? You say he was determined to get the listing.”

“Yes,” she said. “He was very insistent. He said he had a client in Silicon Valley who wanted to open a winery and that the property was ideal.”

“But you were stalling. Were you planning to try to do the deal yourself and cut him out? The agent’s commission on that property would be substantial.”

She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I am dealing with some other estate issues at the moment.”