ESCAPE !
A Novel
By David Emil Henderson
Pine Tree Arts
Penn Valley, CA USA
Originally published under the title “Deadly Dividends,”
this edition includes multiple pages of new material.
Copyright © 2011-2012 by David Emil Henderson
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Pine Tree Arts, P.O. Box 129
Penn Valley, California 95946
Pine Tree Arts is the creative division of
Pine Tree Press of Penn Valley, California, USA.
The characters, places, events, and all things in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real events, companies, places, or persons living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover creation and author photo: Pine Tree Arts
Also by David Emil Henderson:
MONTANA MIDNIGHT
By Pine Tree Arts:
SO BRAVE...SO QUIET...SO LONG!
An Anthology of Patriots
By Larry T. Bailey
In its original and present form,
This book is for Darlene
Author’s Note:
An Unreported Mystery
THE END OF THE COLD WAR supposedly allowed the United States to reallocate vast military assets to civilian purposes — the so-called “peace dividend.”
Thirty miles north of Chicago, suburbanites waited with great expectations after the 1993 closing of the century-old Fort Sheridan army base.
That base had been operating since 1887 on 632 magnificent acres adjoining Lake Michigan — property ripe for upscale commercial development, lakefront parks, all sorts of good things.
Yet, in all the years since 1993, the “dividend” dream has not quite materialized.
Why not?
This report begins two years after the base closure.
June 7, 1995; Approx. 8:45 A.M.
Chapter 1
THE ARCHITECT has had other disputes with construction men, usually minor disagreements resolved with reason and compromise. Today, they were wanting to kill him.
There were three husky foremen, grimy with sweat, eyes shining with malice. Behind them, on densely vegetated land overlooking Lake Michigan, a brigade of heavy equipment was chewing the ground raw with tracks and trenches.
In voices as guttural as their machinery, the foremen demanded to know who the devil this architect was and what the hell kind of authority he had over them.
His name — Grey Harper — meant nothing to them. He was new, arriving from California to take charge. He wore a knitted tie over a checked shirt and a white hardhat. His eyes remained hidden behind aviator sunglasses.
Harper’s clean hands made fewer motions than the others, and his voice stayed calm despite their caustic threats.
He repeated his orders to switch off the ignitions, to stop all work. He stood as solid as a statue in front of them.
The foremen finally turned away in disgust, scuffing the dirt with their work boots. Then they separated, striding toward different areas of the site, waving down the earth-movers and backhoes. The staccato bark of the engines died away. Within minutes, all activity had stopped.
Hiking toward the roadway, Grey Harper whipped off his hardhat, exposing dark hair sprinkled with silver. Approaching him was a black limousine, braving an atmosphere filled with dust. It pitched to a halt a few feet away.
From the back seat emerged a dark and wiry man in a tailored suit. He spoke angrily and jabbed a forefinger repeatedly against the architect’s chest. Harper responded with a few quiet words and moved along to a silver Mercedes convertible. Within seconds, his car was skimming through a U-turn, disappearing into the speckled light and shadows of a forested lane.
The man from the limousine turned his attention to the construction site. Perched on bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan north of Chicago, it had been part of Fort Sheridan, one of the army’s finest reservations. The base had survived a century of war, only to succumb to the specter of peace. This portion had been set for sixty million dollars of residential luxury — until the architect had stopped it all.
One disgruntled foreman tramped up to the sedan. “Mr. Munro, what about this? You gonna allow this shutdown?”
Munro frowned. “It seems I have no choice.”
“God-damn it, we got twenty-eight men and sixteen...”
“I’ll deal with it,” Munro said. “Just take a breather.”
“The hell you say. A breather? Until when?”
Munro squinted. “When I find out, I’ll get back to you.”
“Hell. Somebody oughta just shoot that son-of-a-bitch!”
Munro ignored the man and got into the limo. It rolled away, soon followed by a noisy fleet of vans and pickups.
After days of man-made thunder and quaking, the trees and fields re-settled into a primitive peace.
Chapter 2
THE WOMAN parking the jade green Volvo alongside the curb was in her mid-thirties, wearing a powder blue cashmere sweater and black silk skirt.
As her high-heeled pump pressed against the parking brake, her stockinged leg stretched into that sleek shape so often admired by theater parking attendants as they watched her slide out of the driver’s seat. Those stares usually annoyed her. On this quiet Lake Bluff street, shadowed by elm trees, there was no one watching. Elissa Bennett Pope drew the hem of her skirt up her thighs and smoothed her nylons before shutting off the ignition.
Striding toward the cottage, she sensed a pleasant bounciness in her mass of brunette hair. She felt better than she had in years — vibrant, sexy, and pleased, finally, with her various accomplishments.
Elissa Pope was a residential property manager, a real estate broker, a summer stock theatrical performer; and a divorcée. Her income was derived mainly from finding vacant houses for transient families of company executives. Grey Harper had been her first architect. He also had been the first male house hunter — in the several years since she and Patrick Pope had parted — who was both attractive and unattached.
It had taken a whole day to fabricate an innocent reason for this visit. Now, with fingernail poised at the door chime, Elissa experienced an odd sensation — a ripple of uncertainty. She swallowed a breath to calm herself and was about to tap the bell button when the door snapped open.
“Oh!” She stepped back, drawing a hand to her chest.
Elissa had remembered Grey Harper as a tall and angular man with a California tan, water-blue eyes surrounded by crinkles whenever he smiled, a man who spoke in a masculine voice and possessed a wry sense of humor.
This man at the door was not the Grey Harper she remembered.
“Mrs. Pope,” he said flatly.
“Mr. Harper?”
“What are you doing here, Mrs. Pope?”
The unexpected frost in his eyes, and the sharpness of his question, disturbed her. She had to take another breath before answering.
“I... we had an appointment, Mr. Harper... about the insurance clause in your rental agreement. Remember?”
“Sorry,” he said dryly. “This is not a good time.”
Elissa reflected on her glowing expectations just moments ago. And now she felt like a damned fool.
“Very well,” she murmured. “Perhaps another day.” She turned to go.
“Wait.”
Elissa hesitated.
“It happens I do need to see you,” Harper said. “Come in.” He stepped aside for her.
Without moving, Elissa reexamined her client. His face was pinched, his hair unruly. Behind rimless reading glasses, his eyes were stern.
She suggested, “If it’s not a good time...”
He said, “It may be the only time.”
Elissa was drawn into the house.
The living room was dim, its windows and drapes closed. Harper motioned her to a chair. He remained standing, watching as she crossed her legs and smoothed the thin silk of her skirt. His eyes were invisible now behind reflections on his eyeglasses.
“Mrs. Pope,” he said. “Have you told anyone that I rented this cottage from you?”
The question surprised her. “Well — yes.”
“Whom?”
“Donald Rogers. He’s the attorney for the owner, Mrs. Arthur Barrington. As I explained to you, this cottage is part of the Barrington estate.”
“Yes, I know. A converted carriage house.”
“That’s right.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t know... I might’ve mentioned it to a few people in my office. Why?”
“Has anyone asked you about me?”
“Mr. Harper, I simply don’t understand why you’re asking these questions.”
Exhaling, he moved to a chair facing her and sat heavily. After a moment, he said, “I think it would be best for you to answer my questions — without knowing the reasons. I have a problem that doesn’t concern you.” He leaned forward. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Elissa said nothing. She felt chilled.
Harper repeated, “Has anyone asked you about me?”
“No.”
“Who has access to the keys for this cottage?”
“I keep a set in my office — in a locked cabinet drawer.”
“What about the lawyer you mentioned?”
“Donald Rogers? I don’t know. He might have keys. I suppose he would.”
“When was the last time you saw the keys in your office?”
“Oh, God.” Elissa shook her head. “I can’t keep answering these ridiculous questions without knowing the reason.”
“Mrs. Pope...”
“Mr. Harper! I am personally responsible for this cottage. I’m conscientious about its tenants. If you are involved in something — I don’t know how to say this — if there’s anything sinister going on... I’d prefer that you live elsewhere.”
Elissa waited for a response, breathless. Despite heat in her face and a knot in her chest, she was determined.
In the dimness, Harper’s lean frame seemed to rise like a ghost, approaching her with a calm menace.
Her heart thudded.
He said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Then you’ve failed,” she said.
“Someone entered this cottage last night,” Harper said quietly. “Uninvited.”
“Good grief. Were you harmed?”
“No — not physically.”
“Did you see him?”
“No... Not a trace.”
“Was anything taken?”
“No. I inspected the entire house. Nothing was taken.”
“Do you know how he got in?”
“Again, no... The downstairs was locked tight, and nothing was forced or even scratched. The upstairs bedroom windows were open, but a visitor would have had to climb a ladder and leap across cartons of my construction documents in order to go anywhere. There are no disturbances, no marks of a ladder or footprints outside.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Harper paused. “Unfamiliar houses make odd sounds at night. I heard nothing more sinister than that.”
Elissa shuddered. Reviewing what Harper had just told her, she asked, “How do you know anyone was here?”
“I know.”
“But — you saw no one, you don’t think you heard anything, nothing was taken. You found no damage. What did your phantom do, Mr. Harper?”
“He left a gift.”
“A gift?”
“A dead rat.”
Elissa was astonished. “Has it occurred to you that a rat could have sneaked in all by itself?”
“Not with a hunting knife stuck through it, pinning it to a bathroom wall.”
It took a moment for the image to register.
“Oh, Good Lord!”
Chapter 3
AT THE DOOR was a young man in tan slacks and navy blazer, red-striped tie knotted like a rope, a face carved from pine, shoulders shaped like an iron anvil.
“Officer John Baker,” the young man said, showing a badge to Grey Harper.
Elissa Pope stood in the dimness of the living room a few paces behind the architect. She watched his attention shift toward an electric-blue Thunderbird parked a few inches behind her Volvo. A spidery web of antennas decorated the roof. Harper asked, “Do you have some other identification?”
“Sure.”
Elissa leaned against a wall, folding her arms beneath her bosom, crossing her ankles. Watching Harper inspect the officer’s credentials, she wondered if she’d be able to decipher their authenticity. She wondered why Harper would try. Then Harper stepped aside, motioning Baker to enter.
The policeman, carrying a satchel, halted when he saw her. His eyes traveled from the glossy black of her heels to the soft turtleneck of her sweater. “Hello, there,” he said.
Lowering the satchel to the floor, the man stuffed big hands into tight pockets and rocked on his heels.
“Mrs. Pope, meet Officer Baker,” Harper said to her.
Elissa nodded. “Thank you for coming.”
“Sure,” Baker said. He switched his attention to Harper. “You complained about a break-in — and a dead rat?”
“It’s upstairs,” said Harper. “In the bathroom.” He waved at the stairway.
“Hold on.” Baker extracted a notebook from his jacket, clicked a ballpoint. “Full name, please.”
Harper flipped a hand. “It’s Franklin Graham Harper,” he said wearily.
Baker jotted. “And is this your permanent address, Mr. Harper?”
“No. I’m renting for a few months. I live in California.”
Baker looked up. “Just visiting?”
“Business,” Harper said.
“I’ll need your permanent address, please.”
“Is this necessary?”
Baker grinned. “Afraid so.”
Sighing, Harper said, “I live at One-Fifty-Seven Spindrift Road in Carmel.”
“Ah, Carmel,” Baker said. “Isn’t that where they have that famous golf course — where they held the old Bing Crosby tournaments?”
“Pebble Beach,” Harper said. “The tournament is sponsored by AT&T, and it’s actually several courses.”
“Yeah,” Baker said, writing. “And I heard the Japs bought it all.” He turned to Elissa. “Mrs. Pope, what’s your relationship to Mr. Harper?”
Elissa stiffened, galled by the officer’s use of the term Japs and sensing extreme rudeness in the word relationship. She said, “Mr. Harper is my client. I rented this cottage to him.”
“Oh, then this is your place?”
“No, I’m an agent,” Elissa said.
“I see... May I have your full name and address, please?”
Harper became indignant. “Mrs. Pope is not involved in this. Can we get on with it?” He motioned again at the stairs.
Baker stared at Harper. “I got a job to do, fella. Cool it.”
Elissa said, quickly, “Elissa Bennett Pope. I live at Twenty-nineteen Western Avenue in Lake Forest, apartment three-D.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Baker said, writing. “Now, then, Mr. Harper, why would anyone want to stick a dead rat on your wall?”
“I have no idea.”
“Just a prank, maybe? Delinquents? Vandals?”
“In this neighborhood? I doubt it,” Harper said.
“How about enemies, Mr. Harper? Is that possible?”
Harper frowned. “That’s possible. Yes.”
“Any enemy in particular you can think of?”
Harper paused, then said, “Yesterday, I shut down a major construction job at Fort Sheridan. The workers were outraged and they made some threats. That’s understandable, because they have families to be fed and mortgages to be paid. I didn’t take them seriously.”
Scribbling notes, Baker did not look up as he asked, “What was your reason for this shutdown, Mr. Harper?”
“I had safety concerns. I needed some expert advice.”
“Oh? What sort of concerns?”
“I...” Harper shook his head. “It’s mostly technical — a long story.”
Baker raised his eyes to Harper’s. “I’m not in any hurry. Let’s have it.”
“That land has been under federal control since 1887, and its ravines have been used for dumping a lot of waste, some of it toxic. There was no regulatory oversight until the State of Illinois started litigation in 1979. There’s never been a test for radon; so I collected samples and sent them in. It seems there is radiation from some source. I can’t allow the work until we know if there are serious hazards.”
“So, you told the workers about this radiation?”
“No.”
Baker lifted his pen. “You didn’t?”
“No.” Harper removed his eyeglasses. “I didn’t want to cause unnecessary fears among them. If it’s radon, it’s harmless in the open air. But they might not have understood or believed that. All I said to them was that the plans were faulty and needed reworking.”
A minor smile flicked across Baker’s mouth. He asked, “Did you tell anyone about these hazards?”
“Yes, of course. I told Keith Munro, the area operations manager for Pacific Empire Corporation, the developers.”
“Pacific Empire? Is that Japanese?”
“No. It’s a privately held company in San Francisco.”
Baker stared keenly at Harper. “You told none of the construction workers — only this Munro guy — about this radon. Did you tell anybody else? Anybody?”
“I’ve just told you,” Harper said.
“What about your Pacific Empire outfit?”
“I left that to Keith Munro,” Harper said. “I’m sure they’ll call me to discuss details. But it’s two hours earlier on the West Coast, and I doubt that I’m their first priority. They run major projects all over the world.”
Baker sniffed. “And so, this rat... You think it’s some kind of threat, maybe? From the construction crew?”
“You’re the cop. You tell me.”
Baker turned to Elissa. “Mrs. Pope, what do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you seen the rat?”
“Definitely not. I didn’t want to.” She shivered. “Still don’t.”
The officer clapped his notebook shut. “You said the rat’s in a bathroom upstairs?”
“Yes,” said Harper, turning. “I’ll show you.”
“Stay put,” Baker ordered. “I wouldn’t want you disturbing any evidence.” He grinned, grabbed his satchel, turned to the staircase and started up.
Harper and Pope sat down, facing each other. After several minutes of silence, Elissa said, “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Harper said. “You were correct to insist on calling the police.”
“I mean, I’m sorry that such a hideous thing happened to you — to anyone. Do you think the construction workers did it?”
“Well,” Harper said easily, “that rat was an Easter bunny compared to some things they called me. And it’s no horse’s head.”
Elissa rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, don’t remind me of that Mafia movie.”
They could hear Baker’s movements on the floor above. The sound shifted toward the staircase. From the top, Baker called down, “Mr. Harper, come on up here, please.”
“Find the evidence?” Harper inquired mockingly.
“Just get up here now — you too, Mrs. Pope.”
Harper ascended the stairs with Elissa following.
Baker greeted them with hands on his hips, a gleam in his eyes. “Well, Harper,” he said, “the answer you want is N-O! There’s no kind of rat up here.”
“For God’s sake! Are you blind? It’s in here...” Harper strode across the bedroom, into the bathroom — and stared at a blank wall.
Elissa followed Baker into the master bathroom. It was one of the cottage’s best features, white and spacious, with a whirlpool bath and separate shower, a marble-topped vanity and solid brass fixtures. But Harper’s puzzled face looked totally lost in it.
Baker said, “I did find something else, though. Maybe you could explain this?” He stepped to the toilet, used one hand to hoist the tank lid, the other to motion inside. “Can you tell me what that is doing in there?”
Frowning, Harper peered into the tank.
“That,” Baker said, “is a nine-millimeter Beretta automatic with an illegal silencer, sealed inside a plastic bag. Is it just one of your architect’s tools? Hmm?”
“It isn’t mine,” Harper said quietly. “I have no idea how it got there.”
“Interesting,” Baker said.
“I’ve never inspected the tank,” Harper said. “I’ve lived here less than a week.”
“Uh-huh.” Baker raised his notebook and pen. “The man from your outfit — Munro — when was the last time you saw him?”
Harper raised his brows. “What’s does that have to do with this?”
“Answer the question.”
“Yesterday afternoon. When I told him about the radiation.”
“And what was his reaction?”
“He was angry, of course.” Harper shrugged. “The project was a milestone in his career, and now it’s in jeopardy.”
“Did he blame you? Did you and he have some big fight over it?”
“Not really. His anger wasn’t directed at me. He isn’t a shoot-the-messenger kind of guy... Again, what does that have to do with any of this?”
Baker lowered his notebook. “Munro was shot dead last night.”
Elissa’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, no!” She had never met Keith Munro but was stunned by news of his murder — any murder — within the North Shore’s peaceful villages. “Where did it happen? Does anyone know who did it?”
The officer glanced at her, then back to Harper. “What can you tell me about it, Mr. Harper?”
“I’m shocked,” Harper said, his voice lowered. “Are you certain it was Keith Munro?”
Baker grinned. “The body was found at Fort Sheridan not far from your project. On the ninety acres still owned by the government. He was drilled with four of your nine-millimeter rounds, Mr. Harper.”
“This is insane.” Harper’s hands rose and fell at his sides.
“Let’s go,” Baker said, nodding toward the stairs. “You, too, Mrs. Pope.”
Harper tossed his hands wide. “I’ve told you! Mrs. Pope has nothing to do with any of this!”
“She’s at least a potential witness,” Baker said. “Mrs. Pope, did you not just observe the recovery of a possible murder weapon from that toilet?”
Elissa, mouth ajar, found nothing to say. She nodded vaguely.
At the top of the stairs, Baker pulled back the flap of his blazer, exposing a holstered handgun. That’s when Harper surprised both visitors.
He kicked Baker’s knees. The officer plunged headlong down the stairs and crashed at the bottom, his pine-like face splintering as it hit the tile.
Chapter 4
HER SCREAM, contained within the closed cottage, went unheard on the surrounding estate. Elissa stood stiffly on the stair landing, hands clenched to the railing, her chest rising against the fabric of her blouse.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned, her voice thick.
“I won’t,” Harper promised.
“Why did you do that?” She pointed shaky fingers at the unconscious heap.
“Because that’s a very dangerous man, dangerous to both of us.”
“What are you talking about? That’s a cop!”
“Maybe not. He didn’t seem very professional to me. I think it’s probably the fellow who broke in last night.”
Elissa Pope stared at him, her lips trembling.
He said, “I’ll explain later. Right now, can I trust you not to run off — to just hold still and keep calm?”
“Mr. Harper — I am too frightened to move.”
He nodded. “I understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do something with Officer Baker down there.”
“You won’t kill him... ”
“God, no. I just hope he isn’t already dead.” Harper went past Elissa, down the stairs, and bent over Baker.
Elissa thought of the phone in the bedroom. She could reach it in a few steps and dial 911 before Harper could stop her. But she saw him remove the officer’s revolver and tuck it under his belt. The sight of the weapon froze her.
“He seems okay,” Harper said from below, finding Baker’s handcuffs and snapping them onto the officer’s wrists. “I’ll need to lock him somewhere before he comes around. Can you lend a hand?”
She struggled for a response... “Do you expect me to become an accomplice?”
“If you prefer, I can point the gun at you. You could say I forced you.”
Elissa had nearly stopped trembling. Now she began shaking, aghast at the concept of a gun barrel pointed at her face. She gripped the railing and started slowly down the stairs.
Fingering his jaw, Harper gazed around, obviously deciding where to put Baker. “Let’s see — maybe the closet in the study...”
“It has no lock,” Elissa muttered.
“That’s right. You know this cottage very well.”
“I’ve shown it many times.”
“Do you know where there’s a hammer and some nails?”
“There’s a toolbox on the shelf in the entry closet.” She made a tiny gesture.
“Good. Please get it for me.”
“The shelf is high, Mr. Harper. I’m only five-four. Can’t you get it?”
“No,” Harper said. “I can’t turn my back to this man — or to you. Use one of the chairs.”
Elissa, succumbing, dragged a chair to the closet. She had to raise her tight skirt in order to step onto the chair, exposing her thighs.
When she handed over the toolbox, Harper smiled and said, “Thank you.”
“For the toolbox, or the flash of leg?”
“Well, both,” he admitted.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I wouldn’t have,” he said, brows raised. “But you asked.”
She rolled her eyes in disdain.
Harper went to her side. “Mrs. Pope, I know how upset you are. But I want you to know — I did not shoot Keith Munro.”
Without looking at him, she said, “I’d like to believe that.”
“I’ll try to prove it. But first we need to stash Officer Baker. I’ll drag his feet. Your job is to watch out for his head.”
She glanced at the officer. “His face is bleeding.”
“I know. We’ll just have to manage.”
Through some effort, they did manage. They dragged Baker into the study, emptied the closet, pushed him inside. Harper said, “By the way — notice the white stuff on his shoes.”
Elissa saw some powdery dabs. “What is it?”
“Later.” Harper nailed the door shut and tested it. “Well,” he said. “That won’t hold him forever. We’ll need to move quickly, Mrs. Pope.”
“Where are we going, Mr. Harper?”
“Anywhere that’s safe. Any suggestions?”
“The police station,” she said.
“Please, Mrs. Pope, not yet. We need a temporary hideout, a place to collect our wits.” He added sternly, “Our lives could depend on this.”
Anxiously, Elissa said, “Why can’t you just let me go?”
Harper placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Pope, you must understand that you’re in serious danger — and not from me, but from men we don’t know. I’m trying to help you. But you need to trust me. Trust me until we understand what’s happening here.” The steadiness in his gaze, the sincerity in his voice, seemed authentic.
Elissa sighed. “All right, Mr. Harper.” She thought a moment. “I have charge of a vacant home in Lake Forest. I could take you there — but I’d have to stop at my office for the keys.”
“Fine. We’ll take my car. Have you driven a Mercedes Five Hundred SL?”
“No.”
“Be my guest.” He gave her the keys.
“What about my car?”
“We’ll come back at the first opportunity.” He motioned toward the door.
Elissa noted he was wearing a blue shirt, faded jeans, and hiking shoes. She asked, “Aren’t you taking anything?”
“Everything’s in the trunk,” he said. “I had packed up this morning. I was about to leave, in fact, when you showed up.” He paused. “I should’ve kept going. Then there wouldn’t be an unconscious man nailed inside the closet.”
Elissa glared at him. “You’re blaming me? You’re the one who kicked him down the stairs!”
Harper’s brow went up. He said, “I detect a bit of anger. That’s a good sign.”
“A sign?”
“That you’re not so afraid anymore.”
“Mr. Harper, not only am I still afraid and actually terrified — I will stay terrified until you go far away from me and my life returns to normal.”
He frowned. “Well, if it’s any comfort, I’m not getting a big bang out of this, either.”
“I certainly would hope not.”
“Now listen...” Harper leaned forward. “What I did... I admit it was a ghastly deed. But if I hadn’t toppled that man down those stairs at that moment — he and his handcuffs would have prevented any further opportunity. And he was armed with deadly force. Surprise was our only option.”
“Our option? What have I got to do with this!”
“Yes, well... perhaps you hadn’t noticed how he looked so smug when I said I hadn’t told anyone else about the radiation. It was between us three. And I happen to know I wasn’t the one who hid a gun in the toilet tank. I certainly know I didn’t shoot Keith Munro.” He stared at her. “You see?”
Long silence. Finally, Elissa said, “I’m so befuddled by it all, I can’t think straight. As of now? I’ll swear I never saw, heard, or even smelled anything — at all. Can we go now?”
Chapter 5
THE MERCEDES had impressive power and stability. Its five-liter, 322-horsepower V-8 engine produced a stimulating antidote to Elissa’s anxieties. She could feel her self-confidence returning... a little.
“Okay,” she said, steering blithely along a shaded lane, “what about that white stuff?”
“Hmm?”
“Those little white spots on Officer Baker’s shoes — remember? You showed them to me.”
“Of course,” Harper said. “Let me ask you — do you believe my story about the dead rat?”
Elissa briefly thought about it. “Well, I didn’t see it. I don’t know what to believe now, to be honest... ”
“Can you think of any reason I’d contrive such a story?”
“No. But then, I don’t know anything about you.” Elissa drove across a shallow pothole. The car barely flinched.
“Well, you do know I’m an architect,” Harper said.
“I know you say you’re an architect.”
Harper exhaled. “Well, I neglected to bring my license.”
“But... I guess I believe it,” Elissa said. “Okay, you’re an architect. So?”
“Fine. And you know something about the housing development I’m handling at old Fort Sheridan.”
“I know a lot about it,” Elissa said. “It’s been a major controversy. Lots of people have favored a public preserve on that property.”
“They might get their wish. You heard me tell Officer Baker that I had found radiation there. Unless there’s some unknown military source, it’s probably radon.”
Elissa glanced at Harper. He was looking straight down the road. She said, “Okay. You said you stopped the work because of it. Can radon be that dangerous?”
“It can be. Radon is a product of underground radioactive decay. From whatever the source. Normally, the gas dissipates into the air and causes no evident harm. But a building can trap it. And because it’s colorless and odorless, it can reach hazardous levels indoors without being detected. It can cause lung cancer — if indeed that’s what we’re dealing with.”
“Uh-huh... So, your entire project has to be scrapped?”
Harper angled his head and crossed his arms. “Not necessarily — but it certainly has to be reconsidered. Every structure would have to be sealed against radon penetration and efficiently vented, adding considerable expense. Even then, even if we made it perfectly safe, most people wouldn’t want to risk it. They certainly wouldn’t spend a lot of money to live there.”
“Unless they didn’t know about it,” Elissa suggested.
“That’s right,” Harper said.
“And so, to shut you up, somebody’s tinkering with dead rats and guns in toilet tanks and... Good grief — why don’t they just shoot you!”
Having said that, Elissa cringed. “God. What am I saying?”
Musing over her remark, Harper said, “Well, shooting me might not have been the end of it. As Baker indicated, they also need to find out who else knows about this.”
A shudder surged through Elissa’s body. It was far more rattling than hitting a pothole. “Good grief, I know about it! You’ve told me the whole damn story!”
Harper patted her shoulder. “Yes. And unfortunately, Baker knows that you know. And he managed to get your full name and address.”
Elissa quickly pulled the car to the side of the lane.
“What are you doing?” Harper asked.
“You drive, Harper. I’m too shook up. Again.”
“Well... Let’s sit a minute.”
“I won’t jump out, if that’s what bothers you. I certainly won’t try bonking your head with a shoe while you’re driving.”
Elissa found his gaze fastened on her eyes. She recognized the effect on him. Her eyes were large and somewhat alluring, even in fear and doubt. Those eyes had helped her land lead roles on summer stages. “Okay,” she said again. “What about that white stuff?”
Harper blinked. “Oh, yes. Do you remember that Baker carried a satchel with him and insisted on going upstairs alone? Clearly, he intended to remove the rat and knife from the wall without being observed. The wall in that bathroom is made of sheetrock, a fairly soft material. The knife made a clean puncture, easily patched. The patching material commonly used is a spackling compound. It dries quickly, and it’s white — an almost perfect match for the walls. You’d have to look closely to see the patch.”
“It was spackling compound on his shoes,” Elissa surmised.
“It was. I have seen lots of it. It always dribbles off when you wipe a blade across to smooth it. Baker cleaned up thoroughly, but he didn’t notice his shoes.”
Elissa was dubious. “That’s pretty far-fetched, Mr. Harper. How could he have done all that so quickly? He wasn’t upstairs very long at all.”
“A thin patch takes seconds to apply and dries in minutes. I’ll bet if we drove back, we’d find the proof in his satchel. Or he tossed the critter out the window. Do you want to go back?”
“Lord, no!”
After a few rapid heartbeats, Elissa turned to Harper and said, “Can you explain why he did all that?”
“I can only guess.”
“Go ahead — take a shot.”
Harper smiled, said, “The rat was intended to scare me into running like a fugitive, or maybe provoke me into calling the police. In that case, Baker would arrive. He could question me without suspicion and prowl the house without a warrant — with my full permission. Whether he was a cop or not.”
“And he could find the gun?”
“First plant, then find.”
“Why?”
“Well, I should think, Mrs. Pope, to frame me for Keith Munro’s murder — even if only to intimidate me.”
“I mean, why bother? Why not just shoot you and be done with it?”
Harper gave her a sympathetic look. “Mrs. Pope, you were there. You were a complication. They needed to know what you knew. They had to decide what to do with you. Do you remember that Baker had called you a witness?”
“A witness. Oh God.” Elissa — eyes huge — gazed into the sky. “Who’s they?”
“I have no idea.”
Her hands were shaking. The implications were awesome.
Harper said, “You still want me to drive?”
“Please.” Her voice was brittle.
“Okay.” Harper motioned. “You get out first.”
Elissa’s expression was plaintive. “You don’t trust me?”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She felt helpless. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just don’t know!”
***
FROM THE EAVES of Harper’s cottage, a flock of sparrows sprang into the air, startled by a tremendous racket inside.
In the study, the closet door bulged, then shattered apart as Officer Baker burst through with his anvil shoulders.
His face was red with blood and anger. His eyes wildly scanned his surroundings. He shouted, “Harper! I’m comin’ to get you! I’m going to grind and pound you into meatloaf!”
There was no sound around him.
After a moment, Baker began to cool down. He was still handcuffed in back, and he decided to take care of that first.
Baker had spent much of his boyhood studying the tricks of Houdini and other escape artists. This would be simple.
Kneeling on the floor, he arched his back until his fingers could reach his right ankle. He felt under his sock and, yes, the spare key was still taped there. Harper, an amateur, hadn’t even considered looking for it.
Although the cuffs had bruised his wrists, and his shoulders ached from battering the closet door, his fingers became nimble as he worked the tubular key into position. While doing that, he decided his angry impulse to kill Grey Harper was probably not professional. He didn’t need the anger.
The cuffs snapped open and Baker was free. Now back in control, he’d go to his car and use the cellular phone to summon a team. But no more playful parlor tricks. In tweaking information out of people, you could take magician methods only so far. This time, they would strike fast and hard, and they would keep everything contained the old-fashioned way.
Given any leeway, he would take some personal pleasure in tormenting Harper and the woman until they gave him everything he wanted.
Otherwise, he’d simply trash them and move on.
Chapter 6
THEY PARKED a block from Elissa’s office on Scranton Avenue and entered through the back. In Harper’s left hand was an attaché case. Inside the attaché was Baker’s gun.
Elissa, introducing Harper to her secretary, was disturbed that he kept his eyes concealed behind his aviator sunglasses. The secretary couldn’t see that he was watching Elissa’s every move. He stood aside while she scanned her messages and went to a cabinet and unlocked a drawer. Rummaging, she found a set of keys and dropped them into her jacket pocket. As she was about to close the drawer, Harper put a hand on her wrist and said, “Wait.”
She nodded at him and said quietly, “Yes, I know, I checked. I found keys for the house I’m taking you to — but the spare set for your cottage is gone.”
“No,” he said, mildly. “They’re here.” He held them out to her. Attached to the ring was a tag bearing the address of Elissa’s office.
“Where did you find them?” Elissa asked, astonished.
“In Officer Baker’s pocket.”
Elissa leaned against the cabinet for support. She said, “How the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I waited to see if you’d try to cover up, pretending the spare set was still in your drawer.”
“You’re a suspicious bastard, Harper.”
“Sorry.” He nodded at the secretary. “What about her?”
Elissa’s gaze shifted to the woman. Glorietta Weinberg had been at Elissa’s office for about two years and had keys to everything, including the cabinet. But she was honest and loyal, kind-hearted, approaching sixty years old, the mother of two grown children, wife of a local merchant. Elissa sighed. “I really can’t picture her snatching a cookie if she were starving — much less a set of client’s keys.”
Harper nodded. “Who else has access — and would know the keys to select?”
“Either of my associates — Jeannie Dunlop and Lawrence Higgins,” she said. Then: “And, of course, Donald Rogers.”
Knitting his brow, Harper said, “Mrs. Barrington’s lawyer — but you said he has his own keys for the cottage.”
“I said he might. If he does, he surely wouldn’t allow his own set to be used in a break-in...” She hesitated. “But... ”
“Yes?”
“No. I’d rule him out. He’s been a strong advocate of land preservation at Fort Sheridan. I can’t imagine how he could be aligned with commercial developers.”
“Then what about your associates?”
“I... Sorry, I just can’t see any connection.” Elissa bit her lower lip and frowned. “But what the heck do I know? I’m gullible enough to trust almost anybody — maybe even you.”
***
Leaving Lake Bluff, Harper relied on Elissa’s directions for a route through the winding streets. He had suggested Baker might have gotten free by now and could be out hunting them.
But as they crossed the line into Lake Forest, Harper refused Elissa’s directions for a left turn toward Lake Road. Instead, he accelerated.
“What are you doing? You missed the turn,” she said.
“Tighten your seat belt,” he advised. “And hunker down.”
Perceiving a reason for his abrupt acceleration, Elissa looked back. There was another Thunderbird behind them, dark green and moving too fast for residential streets. It appeared to contain two men — an uncommon mix for a bedroom suburb in the late morning.
Elissa confronted two fears — the other car and Harper’s tire-screeching burst of speed.
Now it didn’t matter which roads Harper took. He swung left, right, punched straight ahead — whatever gave the agile Mercedes an advantage over the other car.
Elissa shut her eyes and clenched the handgrip.
Then she decided blindness made it worse and opened her eyes.
Immediately she saw a stone archway spanning the drive ahead. “That’s not a road!” she shouted. “It’s a driveway — a dead end!”
Harper tightened his grip but said nothing. He shot through the archway and jammed the brakes, then rammed the shift and spun the tires in reverse. Clearing the archway, he twirled the steering wheel and just missed getting broadsided by the Thunderbird. It whizzed past them, through the gates, and entered a hard U-turn through fabulous flower beds.
Elissa pressed hands to her chest and gasped.
Harper had managed to gain a respectable lead while the Thunderbird chewed up the landscaping. But he had no idea where to go. Lake Forest roads were an intricate maze, marked with signs too discrete to read at the speed he was driving.
“I have an idea,” Elissa said faintly.
“Good! I can use one!”
She pointed ahead. “We’re coming to a fork. Hang right.”
He did. “Now what?”
“Go past that flowering tree on the left. You’ll see a high stockade fence with the gate open. Turn in and stop. I’ll jump out and close the gate — and maybe they’ll miss us.”
There was no time for deliberation. Harper checked the mirror and obeyed her directions. He swerved into the drive and braked hard. Elissa popped her door and was out before the car settled. Pushing and stumbling, she managed to close the gate. It was six feet high and, like the stockade fence that bordered the entire property, it was made of tightly joined cedar poles.
Elissa rejoined Harper and stood beside the car.
They waited and listened.
They heard a car racing past.
Soon it was quiet, and Elissa’s breathing settled down.
Harper looked about. The property was expansive and wooded, festooned with shrubbery. The driveway led to a pair of large greenhouses and a clapboard garage. Beyond that, a manicured lawn rolled toward a broad stone house.
“It’s the Junior Donnelly estate,” Elissa said respectfully. “We came through the service entrance.”
“So we did,” Harper noted. “How did you know the gate was open?”
“We passed it twice,” she said, “while racing around. I think the gardener has gone out for his supplies. Otherwise, his station wagon would be parked there by the garage.”
Harper looked at her appreciatively. “You, Mrs. Pope, are an unexpected treasure.”
Elissa returned his gaze. “Why unexpected? Don’t you think I have good eyes?”
“You have whopping eyes. I was referring to your enterprise.”
“Don’t you expect that from a woman?”
“Is that what you think I implied?”
“Did you?”
Harper showed a little exasperation. “Mrs. Pope, are we going to conduct this conversation entirely in questions? All I did was give you a compliment — or so I thought.”
“All right.” She reached into the car and shook his hand.
“As for compliments, Mr. Harper, you aren’t a bad driver. Where did you learn to handle a car so well?”
“Have you heard of Laguna Seca?”
“Who?”
“It’s a place in California. They have these auto races — near Carmel. They attract some of the finest drivers and instructors... ” He smiled. “It’s just a hobby of mine.”
From down the road, they heard a vehicle slowing.
“It might be them,” Harper said. “Get into the car.”
She did, and they sat quietly, listening.
The vehicle stopped just beyond the gate. A car door slammed and footsteps approached.
Harper shifted the Mercedes into gear and whispered, “Where’s the front drive for this estate?”
“I think... Um... ” She gestured decisively toward the right side of the greenhouses. “That way.”
Behind them, the gate swung open.
Harper had almost tromped the accelerator when Elissa clutched his arm. “Stop!” she urged.
She added, calmly, “It’s okay. It’s just the gardener.”
Chapter 7
DRIVING AGAIN toward Lake Road, Harper said, “Whatever made you come up with that story?”
Elissa had told the gardener they’d sneaked onto the estate to indulge a lunch-hour passion snack. She had offered to pay the gardener if he wouldn’t mention this to anyone. The gardener had refused money but warned them to keep their wretched affair off private property.
“It just came naturally,” she told Harper. “The servants on these estates have seen it all.”
“Oh?” Harper seemed disappointed.
“It was not wishful thinking!” Elissa asserted.
Harper flipped a hand. “Okay. I believe you.”
“You’re getting on my nerves.”
“I’m kidding, Mrs. Pope! Loosen up. Your improvisation was a delight. A virtuoso performance.” Harper glanced at her. “I’m only making another attempt at a compliment.”
Elissa’s response was mild. “Well, just don’t start having any wild fantasies, Mr. Harper.”
He sighed. “I’d say the present reality is wild enough. Um, would you take a good look at the car behind us? Does it look like that Thunderbird?”
Spinning, Elissa took a hard look at a green car following two blocks behind. As she watched, it turned off. Exhaling, she said, “A Mercury. Not them.”
Harper’s posture relaxed. “Every green car I see looks like that T-bird.”
“I know.”
“On the other hand,” Harper added, “every other car looks like this silver Mercedes. Thank God for Lake Forest.”
“I’m beginning to wonder how many of the wrong cars those guys chased,” Elissa mused.
“Even so,” said Harper, “I’ll need to scrounge up some other vehicle. I don’t think we’d get very far in this one.”
“There’s our vacant house,” Elissa said. “The second driveway gate on the left.”
“It doesn’t look vacant,” he said. “Are you certain it’s the right one?”
“Yes. The owners haven’t moved out. They’re just spend-ing a few months in Europe.”
Harper pulled up while Elissa dug keys from her jacket pocket. On the ring was a small infrared transmitter. She pressed a button, and the iron gates swung open. Farther on, another button opened the doors to a three-car garage.
“Well, look there!” Harper said, pointing.
In the garage was another Mercedes 500SL — a red one.
“That’s new,” Elissa said. “I don’t recall seeing it before.”
Harper inclined his head. “Do you suppose they’d mind a swap? Silver for red?”
“These people seem to acquire new cars the way ordinary people buy loaves of bread,” Elissa said. “By the time they return, I doubt they’d even notice the difference.”
Chapter 8
THE DRIVEWAY between the garage and house was covered in Missouri River gravel. Stepping along in her high heels, Elissa held onto Harper for balance — and felt his right arm, although lean, was solid. She peered up at his profile, a copper etching softened by sensitive blue eyes.
Those eyes were studying the house, a two-story cube with vertical panels of stone and glass. Tree reflections on the glass made the structure seem transparent within its wooded setting. “It’s a Charles Moore concept,” he said. “That’s quite a break from Lake Forest tradition.”
“The owners wanted to make a statement,” Elissa said. “It’s the new rich, asserting itself against the old money.”
Harper laughed, those clear eyes twinkling at her. She felt a momentary sensation of warmth. And trust.
And then she told herself to grow up.
After bypassing the alarms, Elissa escorted Harper into a spacious room occupying two-thirds of the main level. The furnishings were an eclectic blend of modern and French Provincial, in tones of pale peach and frosty blue. In the center was an atrium containing a forest of exotic plants and a pair of full-grown trees, with leaves touching the skylights.
“Well, Mr. Architect,” Elissa said. “Will it do?”
“Umm... What can I say?” He lowered his satisfied gaze from the skylights to her eyes. “Any port in a storm?”
Leaning back against a pillar, Elissa studied him curiously. “What is your home port like, Mr. Harper? What sort of house do you occupy in Carmel?”
“Well... ” He shrugged. “Compared to this palace, mine is fundamental. I built most of it myself.”
“By yourself? I’m impressed. How long did that take?”
“Years. The slowest part was the stonework.”
“I see. A lot of stone?”
“Each of the bearing walls is made of stone. The fireplace is a monster, fashioned after those in medieval castles, but lower and wider. The beams are solid redwood. It’s all pinned together with rebar and carriage bolts, and the footings are anchored in bedrock.” He smiled. “If the big quake hits, and the California coast splits away from the continent, I expect my house to remain in one piece — even though I may need a boat to reach it.”
“You’re kidding, Mr. Harper.”
“Yes, I’m kidding, Mrs. Pope.”
She waved an arm. “Do you want to see the rest?”
“Lead the way,” he said.
An upstairs inspection revealed six bedrooms and seven baths (the master bedroom had two), plus a peaceful sitting area commanding a view of Lake Michigan, undulating in steel blue ripples as far as the eye could see.
“Well, Mrs. Pope,” Harper said. “Which room would you like tonight?”
“I... ” Her eyes widened. “You really expect me to stay?”
“Well, of course,” he said, looking incredulous that she’d think otherwise. “I thought that had been settled. You can’t return to your apartment, obviously.”
“But... ” Her mind raced in search of options, of answers. Of objections. She could think of only one. “But, I have nothing to wear!”
Harper dropped his head and spread an arm. “There are six closets full of clothes up here,” he said. “I’m sure you could find something.”
“Oh — but I couldn’t... ”
“Why not? If the owners won’t notice that a silver Mercedes has replaced their red one, they surely won’t miss a few articles of clothing.”
“Really, Harper. They’re not all that dense.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters now is your safety. Your integrity comes second.”
Elissa stared at him and felt a shiver course through her body. “Oh, good grief,” she said. “Harper, I can’t handle this! I wasn’t prepared for anything like this. For God’s sake, Harper, I was a debutante!”
Harper twinkled his eyes at her. “Honest to God?”
She abruptly clutched the arm of a wicker chair and sat down, her back to the sitting room’s windows. She clasped both knees and gazed sadly at Harper. “Damn, I wish I hadn’t told you that. I just want to go home.”
He planted a hip on the arm of a chair and studied her.
She said, “Quit staring at me like that.”
He smiled. “I’m sorry. I just never pictured you as a debutante.”
“I’ll take that as another attempt at a compliment.”
“Well, perhaps it is. I know very little about debutantes.” Harper paused. “Except that most all of them are royally rich.”
Elissa waved a hand past her face and sighed. “Well, I’m the singular exception.”
“You told Officer Baker you live in an apartment. No family estate?”
“Not anymore.”
“Well... ” Harper dropped his hands and stood. “It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re a poor little rich girl or a poor little poor girl. I’ve gotten you into a lousy situation. If you go off alone, you’ll be in danger. And I won’t be able to help you.”
Elissa looked at him sadly and said, “... Girl?”
Harper slapped a palm to his forehead. “That’s just an old expression! Mrs. Pope, I am very much aware that you are a full-grown woman.” He offered a serious expression which placated her and added: “In any case, I’m only suggesting a temporary refuge, until we dream up an alternative.”
“How long will that take?” she asked. “How long before you conceive some brilliant escape from this mess?”
“I don’t know. A day, a week — maybe never.”
She waited a moment in silence. “In that case,” she sighed, “do you mind if I change into something comfortable?”
He smiled.
“Mr. Harper,” she said, reading his smile. “Do please try to control your lecherous impulses.”
“I’ve been trying,” he insisted.
***
When Elissa strolled downstairs after changing, she found Harper stretched out on an Eames recliner, deep in thought, his gaze fastened on the lake. His profile was intellectually handsome. His jaw, and the hand that propped it, both looked strong.
“May I disturb you?” she asked.
He casually appraised her. Elissa was wearing white slacks with gold-thonged sandals and a loose-fitting blouse of bulky silk threads. She also sported dangling gold earrings and a wristful of bracelets. He commented: “Robbed the family jewels, I see.”
She jangled the bracelets and smiled impudently. “It’s just costume jewelry,” she said. “They don’t leave the good items scattered around. Besides, I’m only having a little fun. I’ll put it all back before we leave.”
“I never doubted that,” he said. “Meanwhile, I’m glad you’ve decided to relax a little.”
“If I didn’t, I’d go bonkers.” Elissa settled into a chair facing him, wondering briefly if she were the first person to occupy it since the bride of Louis XIV. “Well, Mr. Harper,” she said. “Have you come up with any solutions?”
Harper swung his long legs off the footstool and sat up straight. “No, I’m at a loss,” he admitted, clasping his hands. “All the proper things to do seem — well, foolhardy. Calling the police, for instance. We might get another Officer Baker — or Baker himself. Or worse.”
“Speaking of Baker,” Elissa said. “Had you noticed something odd about his face?”
“Now that you mention it... yes.”
“I mean, even before he fell on it.”
“Yes,” Harper said. “It had an artificial quality — as if he’d had plastic surgery that didn’t quite succeed.”
“Whoa,” Elissa said. “For some reason, that gives me goose bumps.” She shivered. “But I think you’ve defined it. Anyway, I was thinking about why he’d stage an elaborate frame-up instead of just shooting you. And I may have found an answer.”
Harper raised an eyebrow.
Elissa folded her hands in her lap. “Well, if he or his people were to kill both Munro and you, there’d be a police investigation — which might uncover the secrets they’re trying to hide. But if they first killed him, then framed you, and then shot you while you were supposedly trying to escape, or something like that — that’d be the end of it. Case closed. Right?”
They looked at each other inquisitively.
“Perhaps,” Harper said. “But then he’d have to be a real cop.”
“But not a Lake Bluff cop.” A quirky smile formed on Elissa’s face. “Harper, Lake Bluff is a small town. I don’t know all the policemen, but I know many, and I’ve never seen one in a Thunderbird.”
Harper abruptly stood. He paced. He stared at her with renewed awe. “Mrs. Pope, that’s amazing! It reminds me... I was leaving SFO — San Francisco International Airport — about two years ago, driving along the frontage road after collecting my car from long-term parking. Suddenly, three cars converged on a minivan and forced it to the side, stopping traffic in both directions. As I watched, a bunch of husky young men in jeans and blue windbreakers leaped from the cars, waving pistols, and they yanked the van’s driver out of his seat and slammed him to the ground and handcuffed him. Then they holstered their guns and clipped I.D. badges to their jacket pockets and began talking into hand-held radios as various police cars arrived on the scene. It became clear that those husky fellows were federal officers, and this was a federal bust.”
“That’s... an alarming story,” Elissa said. “But what’s the point?”
“All three of the federal cars were Thunderbirds,” Harper said.
“Good grief! Are you suggesting that Baker is a fed?”
“I don’t know. There are so many different breeds. But he certainly has a lot of resources. He was able to intercept my call to the Lake Bluff police, probably by tapping electronically into my phone line outside the house. He found a way to get keys to the cottage and enter it without my awareness. He showed me authentic-looking police credentials. And I’m sure the gun he planted was actually the same one used to kill Keith Munro. That’s all big-time stuff, Mrs. Pope.”
“Oh, damn! Oh, shit! Harper — what’ve you gotten us into?”
“I wish I knew,” Harper said. “... On the other hand, maybe I don’t want to know.”
***
Later, while they were sliding frozen dishes into the microwave, Harper became solemn. “You know, it’s all very cozy here — but what if the police come around to check out this place? Some arrangements must have been made for that.”
“That’s no problem,” Elissa said, gathering utensils from a drawer. “I can prove who I am, and I can show that I have the owners’ consent to enter this house.”
“Splendid. But can you also prove you have their consent to wear their garments and raid their refrigerators?”
Elissa dropped the utensils on a countertop. “Why don’t we just call the police right now? Why not enlist their help? What are we waiting for?”
Harper twisted a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you urged me to do that?” He jerked out the cork.
“Don’t be paranoid.” She snatched the bottle from him and dribbled wine into a crystal glass. “This is Lake Forest. If that doesn’t impress you, then consider that it’s a different jurisdiction. And Baker can’t tap the phone if he doesn’t know where we are.”
Harper tasted the wine and read the label. Although the product was not from a California vineyard, he indicated his acceptance and extended the glass for a full portion. Then he said, “We know nothing certain about Baker. If he has any jurisdiction, federal or otherwise, he could mobilize all the North Shore police agencies to come gunning for me, just because I assaulted him.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
For a moment, they gazed at each other...
Then, “It’s getting late,” Harper said. “Let’s have dinner and sleep on it. Maybe our options will seem brighter in the morning.”
After a bit of contemplation, Elissa asked, “Shall we dine formally or informally?”
Harper glanced about. “Dinner on the terrace? It may be safer if we don’t display any lights in the house.”
Elissa considered, then said, “Actually, it’s the opposite. The lights are on timers. It’s more suspicious if they don’t come on. Besides, they have these marvelously soft lights in the formal dining room, and the most discrete candles.”
“It does sound romantic,” Harper suggested.
“I meant it to be practical,” she asserted.
“Oh.” He delivered an engaging smile.
“Your case is hopeless,” she proclaimed, gathering the utensils.
***
As they passed plates of food to each other, Harper said, “After we’re finished, I think we should gather up some bedding and sleep in the garage.”
“What?”
He speared some vegetables. “If we receive visitors tonight, they’d attack the house first. From the garage, we’d have a better chance to escape.”
She dropped her fork and stared at him. “How could they possibly discover where we are?”
“How did they know which keys in your office belonged to the cottage?”
“Well... ” Her posture slackened. “The number code for each set is identified on a chart — in the key cabinet.”
He waited expectantly.
“So, if they guessed that we might be hiding in a vacant house,” Elissa realized, “and they’ve already displayed access to that cabinet, they could simply check the drawer to find what keys are missing. The address would be on the chart.”