Hidden Motive (8 page)

Sable gasped. “No!”

The figure raised a branch the size of a man's leg, moving into a line above Murph.

Sable unlocked the window and shoved it up. She fumbled with the lever of the storm window, tried to open it. It wouldn't move.

She pounded on the window. “Murph!” She looked around for something to hurl through the glass, fumbled once more at the window frame and felt it give. She shoved it hard, and as the pane flew up she cried, “Murph! Watch out!”

The assailant heaved the branch over the cliff at Murph.

At the sound of her voice, Murph straightened and looked around. The branch hit the side of his head, then crashed to the ground. Murph plunged face-first across a half-cut log.

S
able raced downstairs from the attic to the living room, flung open the front door and rushed out into the icy air, stopping only when she reached the slick steps that led down from the front porch to the yard. She grabbed the pickax someone had leaned against the steps and used it to balance herself across the frozen slope.

There was no longer any doubt, someone had tried to kill Murph—and may have succeeded! Someone had come stalking, and he or she was in these woods, right now.

Sable scrambled across the ice to a steep, old trail a couple hundred feet from the house. She raised the pickax over her head and plunged the tip through the thick ice crust, pulling herself up a few feet at a time, frustrated by the slow progress. When she reached level ground again, she scrambled through the trees toward the place she had seen Murph fall.

“Murph!” She grabbed at the slender trunk of a dogwood to keep her balance. “Murph, answer me!” She couldn't see him.

A crash reached her from a stand of cedars, a crackle of brush and the tinkle of ice—the attacker was getting away. She couldn't take time to follow.

At last, just past a huge, bare-branched oak, she caught a glimpse of Murph's tan coat. His limp body lay over the log where he had fallen, the ax beside him in the ice.

Sable rushed toward him, using the pickax. “Murph, please answer me!” Sharp spines of a cedar branch slapped her face.

Murph groaned. Which meant he had an airway and was breathing.

She stumbled to his side. “Murph, can you hear me?”

Again, he groaned and started to turn over.

“Don't move. Not yet. You know the drill. Wiggle your fingers.”

He did. All moved well. “I'm okay,” he said. “Now can I move?” His speech wasn't slurred.

She grabbed his arm and helped him turn over. A red welt followed the line of his right cheek and the right side of his neck. Several small cuts seeped blood. He opened his eyes. His pupils were equal and reactive.

“Thank God you're alive,” she said.

“I'm not sure I'm ready to be thankful for that yet,” he muttered under his breath.

“Tell me what day of the week it is.”

“Saturday afternoon, we arrived earlier this morning in the middle of an ice storm, your birthday is next week, and you'll be thirty-one. Satisfied?”

“You can sit up. Slowly.”

He blinked and raised his head. “Man, I didn't hear that coming.” He sat up, grimacing. “Should've waited for Craig to help. Dangerous under these trees.”

Sable darted a glance up the cliff, where she had seen the other figure. “The branch didn't fall.”

“What?”

“Somebody threw that limb at you from the top of that cliff.” She pointed to where crevassed rocks loomed overhead, then to the log a few feet away. “If you hadn't moved when you did, you'd have a crushed skull.”

His face gradually lost its color, and Sable braced herself against him. “Murph, rest for a moment. I can't hold you, and you can't afford another fall.”

He touched the side of his face, then turned his head from side to side. “I'll be okay. Did you see who it was?”

“All I saw was a shadow of green topped by red. Most likely a stocking cap. Did you hear me shout from the window?”

“Yes. That's why I turned.” He took her hand. “That was a close one. If you hadn't called to me, I might be dead. Did you see who was in the house as you left?”

“No. I'm sorry. I was so panicked when I ran out of the house, I didn't think to pay any attention. I didn't tell anybody, I just ran.” She shivered. “Oh, Murph, I was so scared. All I could think about was reaching you. I—”

He placed his fingers gently on her lips. “You did fine.”

Sable shivered again.

“You're terrified.” His fingers trailed across her face, and he cupped her chin. “You didn't even stop to get a coat.” He undid the buttons of his thick, quilted jacket.

“I'll be okay. Let's get back to the house.”

“We will, but first…” He pulled the jacket from his shoulders and placed it around hers. The lingering warmth from his body encompassed her. “If you must rescue me, allow me to salvage some of my macho pride with a gesture of chivalry.”

She accepted the coat. “I'll be glad to help. But let me complete my mission. You need some medical attention, and that's back at the house.”

“Agreed. And now I'm cold.” He bent to pick up his ax, and he stumbled.

She grabbed his arm. “Are you okay?”

He retrieved the ax and straightened up. “I'll be fine, just a little dizzy when I bend over.”

“Then don't bend over.”

The fine lines around his eyes deepened with amusement. He looked down at her as he put an arm across her shoulders. “It's nice to know you're so concerned, Doc. Think we can get back to the house without another fall?”

“If we walk in the brush and dried grass to the side of the trail, it isn't quite as bad.”

“Good observation.” He stepped into the patches of broken ice where Sable had used her pickax, and together they made their way back toward the house. Slowly.

“Murph, I've been talking with Craig, and a lot of things have fallen into place. Boswell has resorted to blackmail in the past to get what he wanted.”

“How does Craig know about it?”

Sable hesitated. “His father was the one blackmailed.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

They stepped out of the woods and crossed the frozen yard toward the house. The house was constructed of brick, with white columns supporting the front porch, and black shutters at each window. Today, all the shutters were folded back, and the blinds were raised to let in as much light as possible. This gave the unfortunate impression of eyes open wide, watching every move Sable and Murph made.

“You could hike out of this hollow with a pickax, the way you hiked to me,” Murph said. “Get help from a neighbor.”

“The neighbors are in the same situation.”

“Call for help.”

“From where? The neighbors won't have cell reception, either. Our radio doesn't work. The battery's dead. The lines are down all over with this kind of ice. Face it, Murph, we're stranded.”

 

Murph had trouble concentrating as he stepped onto the front porch—partly because his brains had a tendency to scramble lately when he was near Sable, but mostly because of the pain that shot through his head and down his neck with persistent frequency.

He decided he had a great deal in common with Josiah Kessinger—he felt an instinctive need to protect Sable, and in doing so he had downplayed his fear. Whoever had tried to kill him may be—probably was—planning to kill Sable after she led the way to the object—or objects—of this treasure hunt. If she didn't realize this yet, she would soon.

When they stepped through the front door, Audry greeted them from the sofa.

“At last,” she said, getting up. “For a while, I thought I'd been deserted. Where is everyone?”

“I don't know about the others,” Murph said, “but we were out in the—”

“Murph!” The older woman rushed toward him, reaching up to touch the side of his face. “What on earth happened to you?”

Murph winced and stepped back. “A limb hit me. I'll live.”

“A limb? I knew it would happen. These storms are deadly. We need to get some ice on that right away. I'll get a dish towel and some ice. I'll be right back—”

“Audry,” Sable interrupted, “was anyone else outside recently? We wouldn't want more injuries.”

“Nobody I know of,” Audry said. “It's a pretty sure bet Perry wouldn't try it. He barely made it to the outdoor privy this afternoon. Took him thirty minutes to get there and back, and I saw him fall twice. I think he's taking a nap now. He has decided to haul water for the indoor facilities.”

“And Simmons?” Murph asked.

Audry shrugged. “Haven't seen him, don't want to.”

Before Murph could ask about Craig, the basement door opened and Craig stepped through it. He switched off his flashlight and set it on the shelf behind the door. “The wood furnace is filled,” he said. “To capacity. How'd you do out there, Murph? Do we have enough wood to last us a few days?”

Murph paused. “Not as much—”

“Man, can't you see he's wounded?” Audry exclaimed. “Anybody who goes outside ought to wear a helmet. Surely you can make what we have last until the ice stops breaking the branches.”

Craig's surprise and concern appeared genuine to Murph, but there was no time to think about it before the door to the family room opened across the hallway from the kitchen.

Bryce ambled out with a book in his hand. “Hey, Sable, can I borrow this? There's no electricity for a TV or computer, and I'm getting bored.”

Sable stopped to talk to him, and Murph followed Audry into the kitchen before anyone else could ask questions about his injury. He needed to be the one asking questions. He needed to know where the others had been while he was being bashed in the head.

F
irelight flickered against the paneled walls with a muted glow. Usually at this time on sunny afternoons, the light filtering through the long bay window embraced the pastel floral colors of sofa, chairs and drapes that Sable had chosen so carefully last summer. All looked gray today.

Sable turned from the window to the fire. The sounds of chatter and laughter drifted from the family room, where Audry, Jerri and Bryce played a spirited card game. Murph was upstairs lying down.

The guests had been scattered throughout the house when Murph was attacked; no one had seen a thing.

Even the colors worn by Murph's attacker gave Sable no clue—there were always two or three green coveralls and a couple of red knit caps in the mudroom, used often by the family in the wintertime. Murph's assailant had obviously found the mudroom.

Murph had left firm orders for Sable to stay near the others, and if she couldn't do that, to keep Dillon with her. Sable, in turn, had given firm orders for him to rest, and to let her know immediately if he noticed any changes in his vision, any dizziness or worsening of pain. He knew the routine. She had checked on him twenty minutes ago.

Simmons was in the dining room with a cup of coffee and a back copy of
Field & Stream.
Craig had gone back outside to round up more wood, in spite of Audry's dire warnings of the dangers involved.

Dillon lay at the hearth, his ears pricking forward every time someone stepped through the living room.

Sable paced through the living room and paused at the old rock collection on a low shelf beside the staircase.

Before he married, Grandpa had traveled extensively throughout the United States, hitching rides on boxcars. His stories about the places he'd visited and this small display of stones was all that remained from his travels.

Sable knew the shape and color of every mineral specimen, and the story that went with each. By the time she was ten, she had known as much about Grandpa's collection as he knew himself. Something had seemed odd to her last night when she glanced at the shelf, and now, as she studied the collection, she realized that some of the mineral chunks had been disturbed.

She picked up a lump of coal Grandpa had carried from Pennsylvania and studied the position of the rose quartz. Hadn't there been a chunk of galena between them? The galena was now where the sphalerite used to be. Sable had never labeled them because she had known them by heart. But now…

“That dog seems to like you.” Audry's voice drifted quietly from the hallway.

Sable turned from the display case. “I like him, too.”

The older woman's sherry-brown eyes filled with sympathy as she ambled toward the sofa. “Sable, I was so sorry to hear about your grandfather. We haven't had much time alone to talk. Would it be too intrusive to ask what caused his death?”

“He was in an automobile accident.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Both women turned as Perry Chadwick thumped heavily down the steps. He wore a tan dress shirt and a pair of slightly wrinkled brown slacks. His thin, pale brown hair clung to his scalp, and the scant light from the window revealed a red blotch on the second fold of his triple chin.

“You're going to have a nasty bruise there,” Audry said. “You should have let me put a vinegar poultice on that place.”

“What happened?” Sable asked.

“I fell on the way to the outdoor privy,” Perry said. “Which is why I'm carrying water to the bathrooms.”

“He can't stay on his feet long enough to get wood from the porch into the house,” Audry said. “Perry, you're just not coordinated. If you'd gone to help chop in the forest, they'd have had to carry you back on a stretcher.”

Perry nodded. “It's the feet, you know. They aren't big enough to balance the weight of my body.” He grimaced. “That may change if we're here for long. I've been looking over the food supplies.”

“Naturally,” Audry said.

“Lots of good canned stuff, lots of meat.” Perry shook his head. “But there are quite a few people in this house, and we don't know how long we'll be here.”

“We aren't going to starve,” Audry said.

“Speak for yourself,” Perry protested. “You don't need as much fuel to keep you alive. This may be the diet of all diets.”

While the two exchanged mild barbs, Sable thought again about the case that Perry had guarded with such fierceness, and wondered what might be inside.

Perry gave up the argument and strolled toward the kitchen.

Audry chuckled as he disappeared. “He reminds me of my grandson, the rascal. Always hanging around the kitchen underfoot. I took the liberty of preparing some stew this afternoon, and every time Perry returned for more water, he had to sample the food, offer suggestions for seasoning, make a nuisance of himself. He can be amusing when he isn't busy worrying about that silly suitcase of his.”

“I'm glad somebody has a good attitude about all this,” Sable said. “I'm also glad he's carrying the water. That's quite a job. I wouldn't want it.”

“You're in good physical condition, you don't need help getting into shape.”

Sable considered the older woman's slender, wiry form. “You're in pretty good shape, yourself.”

“I try to keep toned. Time to check up on Perry. Can't let him ruin dinner—or eat it all up.”

Sable waited until she heard Audry and Perry bantering in the kitchen, then she glanced up the stairs. She had a crazy thought that wouldn't go away: What would a snoop have found in Perry's suitcase?

It was none of her business, and Perry was barely able to navigate outside, much less possess the nimble precision it would take to hover over a cliff edge and target Murph's head with a limb. If he had been the one to push her last night, he would most likely have fallen with her.

But what if he was faking? She couldn't avoid the questions. What could be so important to Perry that he would lug a heavy suitcase all the way here last night and protect it as if it were precious cargo? He'd had other luggage on the bus, and yet he had chosen the one piece that had contained no change of clothes.

The rise and fall of the voices in the kitchen told her Audry and Perry were still embroiled in their good-natured bickering. The others, except for Murph, were either downstairs or outside. If she wanted to snoop, this was the time. She gestured silently for Dillon to follow her.

The sewing room occupied by Perry was down the hall, right of the staircase, directly across from the room Murph and Simmons were sharing. The sewing room had two tall, wide windows that allowed a surprising amount of light through, considering that the room faced the mountainside.

Sable opened the door and glanced in. She hesitated. The case was surely locked, especially since Perry was convinced someone had broken into it this morning. Still…she took a step forward.

The door across the hallway opened suddenly. She stiffened as icy needles of tension shot beneath her skin.

“Doing some dusting?” came Paul Murphy's wry voice.

She sagged against the doorjamb with relief. “It's no use, I can't do this. It's crazy.”

“Dusting is crazy?” He came closer.

“I was going to find out what's in Perry's overnight case,” she whispered, turning to check the injury on his face. For the amount of abuse his face and neck had sustained, he looked surprisingly good.

“That isn't an overnight case, it's a steamer trunk,” Murph said. “Don't let me stop you. I'd like to see for myself what's inside.”

“Then feel free to go on in. I was just chickening out. Remember how Perry said he hates snoops?”

Murph opened the door wider, coming so close she could feel the caress of his breath against her forehead. “We're both in on this one,” he said. “After you.”

Sable hesitated. Much as she hated to admit it, she didn't feel quite so nervous with Murph along. “But should we be doing this?” she asked.

“We're not stealing anything, we're trying to protect ourselves from being murdered. I've tossed etiquette out the window.” He turned to Dillon. “Stay and watch, boy. Warn us if anyone starts up the stairs.”

The German shepherd sat.

Sable checked the upstairs landing once more, then quickly stepped into the room. “Perry will have a seizure if he catches us. You saw how angry he was earlier.”

“That's why this is a good idea. What's so important about that suitcase? Why was he so concerned about its contents? When I borrowed some toiletry supplies from Craig, he told me Perry had asked to use them, too. So what's in the case?”

They saw a laptop on the cot. That would account for five or six pounds. Sable found the suitcase beneath the cot. She tugged at the handle to pull it out, and lost her grip. “Wow. That thing is heavy.”

Murph reached down, pulled out the oblong, hard-sided black case, and set it on the thin mattress beside the laptop.

“Can you pick locks?” Sable asked.

“Yes, but first let's try the old-fashioned approach.” He pushed against the metal latches and they snapped open.

Sable stared at it.

“Now who's the pessimist?” Murph teased. He lifted the lid of the case to reveal the colorful—and heavy—contents.

Nestled in the old, worn suitcase that Perry Chadwick had carried so protectively in the ice storm, were several volumes of books with pictures of food on their covers.

“Cookbooks!” Sable exclaimed.

Murph pulled out a large hardback. “Betty Crocker.”

“Cookbooks,” Sable said.

Murph chuckled.

“Shh!” She picked up another heavy tome. “Master Chefs. At least we know Audry wasn't the one who snooped earlier. She won't let Perry near the food.” Anxious to retreat, Sable replaced everything as she'd found it and closed the case.

Murph lifted it and placed it back beneath the cot. “Let's get out of here.”

Sable hurried out into the hallway with Murph. She walked toward the window at the end of the hallway while Murph closed the door behind them and joined her. Even in the dim light she could see the deep red mark at the side of his face.

Without thinking she reached up and gently touched the swollen welt. “How do you feel?”

His jaw tensed.

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts.”

A comfortable smile spread across his face. “You've got the healing touch, Doc. I think I'm going to live.”

“If I thought otherwise I wouldn't have let you out of my sight.”

His smile widened. “Speaking of which, I don't think I've thanked you for saving my life.”

“You're welcome, but you're still one up on me. You've rescued me twice now. Have I told you I'm scared?”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Of course we're afraid. It means we're sane.” He moved his hands to the base of her neck and massaged it in slow, easy movements. “I don't see anything wrong with fearing for our lives.”

Instead of relaxing her, his touch sent warning signals to every nerve in her body. A different kind of danger. She stepped aside.

Reluctantly, he released her. “Don't trust me, either?”

“I don't want to complicate an already complicated mess.”

“Who's complicating things? Your neck muscles are really—”

“Would you stop it?” In spite of her tension, she couldn't prevent a smile. Paul Murphy was an easy man to like. “I'm sorry, Murph.”

“Sorry about what?” He didn't move away, and he silently drew her gaze, though he didn't touch her again.

“I'm sorry that I'm not eager to become involved in more than one dangerous situation at a time.”

He chuckled. “I'm not that dangerous.”

“But fear can trigger emotional impulses one wouldn't ordinarily have, and those can lead to wrong decisions.”

“So if I understand what you're saying,” Murph said, “you're afraid that, if our friendship were to grow into something more, I would suddenly become a threat to you in some way?”

“You're twisting my words. I just think we need to get through this situation alive without allowing attraction to cloud our judgment.”

He inclined his head. “That makes sense. We'll get through this situation.”

Sable turned and walked toward the stairs.

“Afterward, we can concentrate on the romance,” he added.

“That isn't what I meant.”

Murph caught up with her, and once more stopped just short of enfolding her in his arms. “So what did you mean?”

She turned to look up at him, and felt her pulse quicken at the serious expression in his eyes. This was no light flirtation; he meant business. But so did she.

“I love my career and my independence. I'm sorry, but I have to make this clear. I saw my grandparents fight often because Grandma ran her own restaurant in Eureka Springs. She worked long hours, and came home cranky, and she and Grandpa hardly ever saw eye to eye. I don't think it works to combine a career with a romance.”