Linda Lovely - Marley Clark 02 - No Wake Zone (7 page)

“You’re trespassing.” He staggered forward. “Get the hell
out, or I’ll throw you out.”

I eased the stun gun into my palm and held it up like a
talisman to ward off evil. I was about to warn Eric that it was, indeed, a stunner,
when the kid rushed me.

“You’re not going to call anyone,” Eric growled. His charge
ended as quickly as it began. He collapsed and commenced a horizontal
jitterbug. Then he stilled and his face went slack.

“Shit. Shit. And triple shit.” I knelt and felt for a pulse.
Fast but steady. He’d fainted. Probably the alcohol-shock combo.

I hadn’t meant to zap him. In fact, I was fairly confident
Eric buzzed himself during our tussle. Still, my mock Ma Bell indisputably had
Eric down for the count.

I looked up and saw Duncan, arms folded, leaning in the
doorway. His lips twitched. He thought it was funny. “I ran to your rescue when
I heard Eric bellowing. I presume you simply decked the brat and he remains
among the living? Of course, if it comes to it, I could testify it was
self-defense.”

“It’s a stun gun.” I held up my make-believe cell. “He
should revive quickly.”

Duncan surveyed the spilled contents of my purse. “Any other
surprises?”

The litter on the floor included my faux perfume atomizer.
Thank heavens my bag had been too small to accommodate the gas mask and
night-vision goggles. Duncan probably thought I had Rambo aspirations.

“Given what I know about your cell phone, I have to
ask—perfume or…”

“Pepper spray,” I answered sheepishly. “I don’t usually carry
this stuff. I’m just testing these for a friend.”

He chuckled. “Even more interesting.”

Eric moaned.

“Why don’t you head to the house,” Duncan suggested. “Might
be better if you’re gone when he comes around. I’ll explain I saw everything.
He has only himself to blame. Only his pride’s been hurt.”

A bolt of lightning lit the room like a camera strobe. An
almost instantaneous bang shook the cottage’s foundation. I didn’t need a
second invitation to skedaddle. Outside, a wall of water marched across West Okoboji. I ran, knowing the sporadic drops were about to become a torrent. I gained
the threshold of the main house just ahead of the deluge.

“Well, you made it under the wire,” Julie welcomed me.
“Where’s Duncan?”

“He’ll be along in a minute.” I hoped I was right. Surely
Eric wouldn’t feel peppy enough to threaten anyone else.

I looked around. “Where’s Darlene?”

“Mom asked me to apologize. She developed a whopper of a
migraine. I urged her to go to bed.”

I nodded. “I’d have a migraine, too, if I’d had your mother’s
day. I’m so glad you’re here, Julie. I’ll check in tomorrow. Your mom knows how
to reach me if there’s anything I can do.”

I glanced at my watch. Five-thirty. Amazing how time flies
when you’re decking asswipes.

“Looks like I’ll be able to meet my family for dinner.
That’ll please Aunt May. Now all I have to do is coax a taxi to brave the storm
and pick me up.”

“Don’t even think about a cab. I’ll give you a ride.” Duncan had slipped in the French doors unnoticed and dripping. “Besides you might get into
more mischief without a chaperone.”

Julie looked a question at Duncan, who laughed. “Marley
didn’t mention she just KO’d Eric with a stun gun.”

Julie whooped with delight. “I can see why Mom likes you so
much.”

The explanation that my knockout was accidental didn’t
lessen Julie’s pleasure.

Duncan took a squishy step on the tiled sun porch. “Stay
put,” Julie said. “I’ll get towels. You look like a drowned rat.”

Before she could fulfill her promise, Harvey arrived with a
stack of fluffy towels. Duncan took one and vigorously buffed his head and
arms. Then, he slipped off his loafers and removed his dripping socks.

“We keep some clothes upstairs for house guests,” Harvey offered. “Try the closet in the second bedroom on the right.”

Duncan shook his head. “Nah. I’m not sugar. Won’t melt.
Besides I’ve offered Marley a ride and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“I can call a cab.” Duncan’s look told me a taxi wasn’t in
the cards. I smiled. “I don’t mind waiting while you change. It may give the
storm a chance to blow by. There’s no sense trying to drive for a few minutes.
Visibility is zip.”

“Go ahead, Duncan,” Julie urged. “Don’t ruin the leather
seats in your cute convertible. Besides, Marley and I haven’t had much of a
chance to chat.”

With two women weighed against him, the attorney conceded.
Once he disappeared, I asked Julie about her Jolbiogen research. While I’d have
posed the same innocuous questions without a nudge from the FBI, I felt a
niggling of guilt about pumping my friend’s daughter for intel.

Julie told me she’d earned her doctorate in biochemistry
from Iowa State. After Jake read her doctoral thesis, he offered a post-doc at
Jolbiogen and assured her it was strictly on merit. The opportunity thrilled
her.

“My lab head Kendra Jacobs is great. I love my work. We’re
on the cutting edge. There’s only one fly in the ointment. Kendra reports to
Dr. Glaston, who tries to micromanage. Unfortunately he’s not smart enough to
carry Kendra’s test tubes.”

Julie bit her lip. “He keeps looking for some flaw in my
work—any excuse to can me. That goes double since his demotion. Dr. Glaston
used to report directly to Jake. Now he’s slipped two rungs down the executive
ladder. That didn’t improve his disposition.”

I heard a cough and turned. “I’m ready, if you don’t mind
being seen with me.” Duncan gestured toward his bare legs. Borrowed khaki
shorts left his alabaster limbs naked. He padded down the stairs barefoot,
carrying his soggy loafers in one hand and bagged wet clothes in the other.

He looked adorable. I know, I know—most men would punch
someone for calling them that. But they’d be more receptive if they realized
how far a lost puppy-dog look could go toward getting them laid. Women are
suckers for cute.

“Couldn’t find any long pants that fit.” He slipped on his
wet loafers. “I could pass as Casper’s cousin. Guess I should get more sun.
Marley, if you’re ready, I’ll pull the car around front. Harvey lent me a big
umbrella so I won’t get soaked again.”

The curtain had come down on the lightning and thunder theatrics.
The rain fell gently. I hoped it wasn’t just intermission.

Julie waited with me until Duncan’s BMW convertible pulled
up to the front door. Harvey materialized like magic and covered me with
another umbrella as I dashed to the car. I slid into the passenger seat dry as
toast.

 “Am I taking you to May’s condo?” Duncan asked.

“No, I’m meeting the family at the Outrigger. Hope that’s
not out of your way.”

“Perfect. My condo’s right around the corner by Brooks Golf
Club. Have a boat slip, the fourth tee out my back door, and not a lick of yard
work. What more could a man want?”

I considered a comeback—“Hot sex?” But not knowing the
gentleman’s sexual proclivities, let alone his sense of humor, I bit my tongue.
Instead, I asked, “Anything exciting happen after Eric rejoined the conscious
world?”

“Nope, amazing how a few thousand volts of electricity will
settle a fellow down. I doubt he’ll mention the incident to Gina or his
stepfather. I helped him realize he’d come out the villain if he spread the
story.”

“How well do you know Eric?”

“Only by reputation, one he lived up to today. Jake
described him as a hothead and doper. His granddad felt sorry for him growing
up with an alcoholic mother and a weasel of a stepfather. Jake hoped he’d
outgrow both drugs and his belligerence. I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”

I decided to pry into Duncan’s past. “I understand you moved
here from Ames. Did you know Darlene or her husband there?”

He kept his eyes on the road, nary a glance my way. The
reply wasn’t immediate. Did his jaw muscles twitch?

“Mutual acquaintances introduced us, but we weren’t friends.
I got to know Darlene once I joined Jake on the museum board. Jake and I golfed
and fished—guy stuff. And I got an occasional party invite when they needed a
spare male.”

I didn’t doubt the handsome divorcé was in demand for
parties. If I threw a shindig, he’d get my invite. Yet my cynical side warned
some disgusting personality trait lurked beneath his charming façade or he
already had a significant other he failed to advertise.

Though tempted to pepper him with more questions, I
suspended my interrogation. I’ve been told curiosity is not my most endearing
trait.

He swung his convertible into an empty parking spot at the
Outrigger and turned toward me as he switched off the ignition. “How often do
you hear you’re a Sigourney Weaver look-alike?”

I groaned. “Those stupid ‘Alien’ movies. In the Army, my
lieutenants sent off for posters with a bald Sigourney holding a big-ass gun.
They drew little balloons over her head filled with supposed quotes from yours
truly. Things like ‘Colonel Clark eats aliens for breakfast.’”

Duncan laughed. “I wasn’t thinking ‘Alien.’ Sigourney played
glamorous roles, too—with hair. She’s beautiful, and so are you. I’m a sucker
for curly hair and big brown eyes.”

My breath caught. “Thank you.” Exercising great restraint, I
let the comment lie. My husband crabbed about my inability to accept a
compliment without making a flattery-nullifying comeback. “Just let people pay
you a compliment,” he urged. “Would it kill you?”

My answer: “Maybe.”

I felt tongue-tied. It appeared traffic on Attraction Street might be moving in both directions. The realization floored me and
complicated my innocent fantasies. A mere two months had passed since my
surprise romp with a younger man. It had ended with smiles, not tears. We’d
sworn to remain friends—maybe friends with benefits whenever our long-distance
paths crossed. Yet there were no commitments. So why did my attraction to Duncan bring on a frisson of guilt?

“You have a devilish smile,” he added. “It seems beyond your
control. When your humor gets the upper hand, the edges of your mouth curve up,
your eyes twinkle, and, wham-o, you’re smiling. Like now.”

I laughed. “It’s your fault. Now I know why you’re a lawyer—your
silver tongue—or is it a forked one?” I grabbed the door handle and prepared to
bolt. Though I enjoyed his company, I didn’t want to trap Duncan in a Good
Samaritan role that required door opening or other gentlemanly gestures.
“Thanks. I really appreciate the ride.”

“Not so fast. I’ll walk you in. It’s drizzling and Harvey insisted I keep an umbrella. Besides, if I don’t pay my respects to Miss May, I’ll
get my comeuppance next time we meet.”

My family always sat at the same circular corner booth so I
had no difficulty locating them. May, Ross and Eunice chatted as they looked
over the specials. Good, I hadn’t delayed the proceedings.

Aunt May glanced up. “Glad you could make it.” She caught
sight of Duncan and her smile brightened. “And look who you brought as a dinner
companion. My, my, your taste is improving, Marley.”

“You’re too kind, May,” Duncan said. “But I’m merely a
chauffeur. I only dropped in to say hi. Wouldn’t dream of horning in on a
family dinner.”

Those words sank Duncan’s chance of flight. He’d had a slim
window of opportunity to claim he was en route to an important meeting. That
escape hatch had slammed shut. May’s eyes twinkled. Oh God, she’d entered
matchmaker mode.

“Horn in?” my aunt purred. “Did you hear that? Ross, tell
your friend he must join us.” She patted the bench seat. “For heaven’s sake,
sit down. Don’t make an ass of yourself.”

Ross and I looked at each other. “Better sit,” we agreed in
stereo.

May’s “don’t make an ass of yourself” line had been honed
into a multi-purpose weapon. It always threw unsuspecting opponents—and,
sometimes, alert ones—off balance. Every time Mom and May argued over a
restaurant check, my aunt trotted it out. In turn, Mom harrumphed, “I don’t
know why I’m the ass, when you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

The repartee had become family folklore. Duncan, however,
was unprepared, and May triumphed easily. He slid into the booth beside me. Our
bare legs briefly brushed. The glancing touch ignited my overactive
imagination.

After my husband died, I’d not so much as kissed another man
for twenty months. Then, a handsome detective took me by storm. The affair,
though brief, had reprogrammed my libido. Now my naughty neurons could fire
with machinegun speed. My alert mental-health censor warned my id was up to no
good. Didn’t help. My breath caught as I pictured us together.

I felt my face flush and hoped no one noticed I’d colored
from my erotic daydream. Everyone seemed focused on their menus—except Duncan. His frank, approving appraisal caused more warmth to rush in multiple directions.
Crimey.

Impervious to the heat being banked in side-by-side human
furnaces, May, Ross and Eunice nattered on about wine selections and
cholesterol counts.

After our drinks arrived, Duncan shared the good news with
Ross, spelling out Jake’s bequest of the cottage and the creation of a trust
for the museum.

Ross rubbed his hands together. “Wowzer. I never dreamed
Jake would be that generous. Now I really can schmooze with those antique boat
owners next weekend.”

Duncan held up a hand. “Don’t start spending money—even
mentally—until the will goes through probate. One or more heirs may contest.
However, if all the lawyers act in their clients’ best interests, they’ll
advise against a fight. Contesting ties up everyone’s money, escalates
expenses, and shrinks the proverbial pot of gold.”

“So who’s unhappy enough to duke it out?” May piped up.

I wanted to know, too, but felt it indelicate to ask. There
are definite perks to being eighty and not caring a whit about people’s
opinions.

Duncan smiled and waggled a finger at May. “I can’t disclose
other beneficiaries or the terms of the will. But I can tell you that Iowa probate law lets any surviving spouse elect to ‘take against the will.’ That option
grants the widow or widower one-third of the estate, even if the survivor isn’t
mentioned in the will. So, no matter what, Darlene’s guaranteed one-third of
Jake’s estate. The fact the marriage lasted seven days is moot.”

Ross exercised his fingers doing a bit of math. “If Jake’s worth
a billion, Darlene’ll inherit—oh, my God—three-hundred-thirty million and
change.”

Not too shabby for someone who used to sling hash with me at
Spirit Resort.

Duncan squirmed. “Let’s change the subject. I really can’t
say more.”

Eunice took pity on our dinner guest. “I saw you last week
at that Minnetonka auction but had to leave early. Did you buy the musket you
were eying?”

“No. Too pricey, and it had defects.”

The chitchat revealed my dinner companions were passionate
antiquers. Duncan, a hunter, favored antique weapons. Ross scouted for marine
memorabilia. May and Eunice waxed eloquent about furniture finds. Me? Unable to
tell aged schlock from treasure, I kept quiet.

Realizing I had nothing to contribute, my aunt called a
halt. “Marley, tell Duncan what you did before you retired.” She patted my arm.
“My niece was a colonel in military intelligence no less, and she speaks Polish
and Russian.”

She turned toward Duncan. “Were you in the Army, too?”

“Yep, two years between college and law school. I lucked out
with a posting in Germany—Bad Kreusnach.”

I smiled. “Small world. I was stationed at the same base.”

After determining our tours were a few years apart, we
expounded on the joys of wiener schnitzel, apple wine festivals, flowers
spilling out of window boxes, and how one’s adrenaline revs into overdrive when
hurtling down Alpine slopes or cruising the Autobahn.

May sported the same smug look of satisfaction she wore
after a real estate closing.

Our check arrived and so did new rumbles of thunder. Intermission
was over. Time for the main storm event.

“Ross, why don’t I give these young ladies a lift?” Duncan nodded at May and me. “That’ll give you a chance to make sure the Queen’s bedded
down. Things are getting mighty frisky.”

“What a nice offer.” May accepted before Ross could reply.
“I’ve always wanted to take a ride in your convertible. It looks cute as a
button. Too bad we won’t have the top down.”

Two blocks from May’s condo the deluge erased the world
beyond the windshield. Sitting up front with Duncan, I peered through the
curtain of water, vainly searching for some hint of a yellow centerline.

“Should we pull over?”

Duncan shook his head. “No shoulder here. I’ll take it nice
and easy.”

He even managed an occasional question to restart May’s patter
and keep her calm. I’d have been too busy swearing and strangling the wheel.

“I see lights at the condo entrance, May.” Relief colored Duncan’s tone. “Looks like we made it.”

Duncan grabbed the nearest parking spot, a few feet from the
entrance to the four-unit cluster. He swiveled in his seat and smiled at my
aunt. “Soon as I get my umbrella open, I’ll come round the car for you. Then
I’ll return for Marley.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s a three-second dash.”

Though Duncan and I exited the car in unison, he reached
May’s door before mine closed. He claimed one of her arms and I took the other.
We moved with the speed and grace of a six-legged, arthritic bug. While Duncan’s umbrella gallantry sheltered my aunt, horizontal rain gusts soaked both her
escorts.

Inside the vestibule, May shook a few drops from her London
Fog raincoat, patted her hair and chuckled at her bedraggled guides. “I got the
better of that deal. Being old has its rewards. Come in, come in, Duncan. Least we can do is fix you an Irish coffee. Can’t drive anyway. Might as well
relax until it lets up.”

Thunder crashed and the lights flickered. “I’ll find candles
in case the lights go,” I said.

Little rivulets of water forged paths down Duncan’s freckled
cheeks. “Maybe a towel is a higher priority than candles,” I said. “But unless
you want to strip and don May’s raincoat, we can’t offer the Olsen’s
change-of-clothing options.”

He grinned. “Don’t want to impersonate a flasher. I’ll just
towel off best I can.”

After supplying a towel and a hodgepodge of candles, I
filled the coffeepot with water. “May, want decaf or regular?”

“Doesn’t matter, kid. The whisky’ll knock me out. Can’t hold
my liquor like I used to. Doesn’t mean I want my drinks watered down. Now
there’s a bone of contention with my sons. I keep telling the little stinkers
I’d rather have one stiff drink that tastes like something than three diluted
excuses.”

May snuggled into her recliner while Duncan lit candles,
making the coffee table look like a votive altar. I puttered in the kitchen,
assembling a tray of Irish coffees and a plate of May’s famous brownies—their
secret an icing layer thicker than the cake.

Meanwhile my aunt entertained with tales of how she’d snared
the room’s antiques. While the best-loved pieces came from her grandmother in Missouri, she was quite partial to finds she’d haggled over and won for a fraction of their
value.

May seemed full of piss and vinegar. Yet, as soon as I
served the drinks, she yawned theatrically and professed exhaustion. Yeah,
right. She retired with her coffee in hand. As soon as Duncan left, she’d
tiptoe back, wide awake and pester me for details. Did he see through her, too?

Moments after she toddled down the hall, thunder clashed
with ear-splitting fury. All lights extinguished, shrinking the living room to
an intimate envelope of flickering candlelight.

“Be right back,” I said. “Want to make sure Aunt May’s not
stumbling around in the dark. Last thing she needs is to fall and break a hip.”

I grabbed a candle, cupped my hand to shield the flame, and
hurried down the hall. “May, is everything all right?” I knocked. “Want me to
bring some candles or help you to bed?”

“Don’t be a ninny. I keep a flashlight on my nightstand. I’m
not in my dotage.”

I returned to the living room. A broad smile lit Duncan’s face. May’s sass tickled him. He patted the cushion beside him on the couch.

“Ross told me you were a widow.” His blue eyes searched my
face. “I’m sorry. I’m divorced and even though the parting was sheer relief,”
he hesitated, “it’s hard to adjust to being single. Dating after so many years
is hell, isn’t it?”