River Road (2 page)

M
ason watched Lucy greet her aunt and enter the old house. He waited until the door closed behind the pair before he put the truck in gear and drove back along the orchard lane.

Ever wonder who rescues a professional guardian angel when he gets into trouble?

Lucy was wrong. He was no guardian angel. He was just doing what had to be done when he yanked her out of Brinker’s party tonight. With her aunt out of town, she hadn’t had anyone to look out for her. She was too naive and too innocent to know the devil when he was in disguise. If the rumors were true, Brinker was definitely straight from hell.

Mason made a note to talk to Sara Sheridan in the morning. She needed to know what had almost happened tonight.

It would have been good if Uncle Deke were in town. Deke could have explained things to Sara. She would have listened to him. People always listened to Deke. But Deke had deployed again and was not due back for several months. That meant that Mason would have to have the conversation with Sara. Together they would protect Clueless Lucy.

When he reached the main road he drove back to the scene of the party. The old Harper Ranch had been abandoned years ago. The pastures where cattle had once grazed had reverted to nature. No one had lived in the dilapidated house in decades. Tristan Brinker had commandeered the barn for his parties this past summer. The local kids were drawn to him like moths to a flame. And always there at his side was Quinn Colfax. Together they reigned over the teenagers of Summer River.

The party was still in progress, but Brinker’s high-end sports car was not among the vehicles arrayed around the barn. Neither was Quinn Colfax’s brand-new SUV. They were both too smart to leave their easily identifiable cars in full view of anyone who happened to drive past the ranch. It was true that their rich fathers would bail them out of jail if they got picked up. But Warner Colfax and Jeffrey Brinker would both be annoyed if their sons were dumb enough to get caught.

Tristan and Quinn were new in town, but they qualified as full-on rock stars. Their fathers were partners in a hedge fund. The headquarters of the business was located in Silicon Valley, but, like a number of other successful entrepreneurs in the Bay Area, they liked to spend their weekends in the wine country. Savvy businessmen that they were, they had figured out fast that Summer River would see the next big vineyard boom.

The relentless wave of the wine business had been rolling across Northern California for more than a hundred years. It had picked up speed in recent decades, washing away the old pear and apple orchards and the ranchlands and dairy farms in its path. Now it was Summer River’s turn. The first vineyards had been planted in the foothills outside of town. It would not be long before there would be wineries springing up all across the valley.

In a few years the sleepy little town of Summer River would probably be transformed into an upmarket boutique village, just as Healdsburg, Sebastopol, Napa and the other old farm towns in the region had been changed. Property values were already starting to climb. Mason had been counting on that fact when he had talked Deke into financing the fixer-upper that was intended to help pay the steep tuition at Aaron’s fancy college. When he was finished with the remodel, it would be worth nearly double what they had paid for it.

Mason continued on past the turnoff that led to the barn. He took the unmarked, unpaved side road that followed the river.

It didn’t take long to find the two vehicles. They were parked in the trees. It might be a while before Brinker and Colfax returned, but Mason was prepared to wait as long as was necessary.

He parked the truck behind the sports car and the SUV, blocking the path back to the road. He got out and walked down to the water’s edge. From where he stood he could not see the barn, but he could hear the muffled sound of the blaring music.

For a time he watched the full moon dancing on the river. The surface of the water appeared to move in slow motion, but the languid-looking ripples were deceptive. Summer River was deep in some places, and the currents were strong. Every year brought reports of people who went wading and got swept away. A few months back there had been another report of a car accident on River Road. The vehicle had gone off the cliff at Lookout Point and landed in the swift-running water. The driver had not survived.

Maybe you should consider a career in law enforcement.

Mason thought about that. The truth was he had never spent much time pondering his own future. Since the death of his parents he had been too busy putting one foot in front of the other, obeying his father’s deathbed instructions.
Take care of your brother. You two stick together.

But soon Aaron would be in college and headed off into his own bright future. And then there would be no one left to take care of, Mason thought. Maybe it was time to think about what the hell he actually wanted to do with his life.

But first he had to take care of Lucy.

The early indication that Brinker’s party was over came when the music was abruptly cut off. Someone had probably driven past the old ranch and complained to the police. Chief Hobbs would have been forced to send a couple of officers out to shut things down. Lucy was right, it was unlikely that anyone would be arrested. The kids would scatter. A couple of the slow movers might get written up, but that would be the end of it.

The sound of pounding footsteps interrupted Mason’s thoughts. He turned and saw two bobbing flashlights. A moment later Tristan Brinker and Quinn Colfax burst out of the trees and into the clearing.

They ran for their vehicles, breathing hard and trying to muffle their laughter. They each had a grip on the handles of a big foam ice chest.

“Did you see the look on the cop’s face when that dumb blonde offered him a bottle of the good stuff?” Brinker laughed. “He looked like he was gonna explode.”

“Think he saw us?” Quinn asked uneasily.

“Who gives a shit? He knows we were there, but he can’t prove there were any drugs.” Brinker slowed to a walk and fished his keys out of his pocket. “He’s not going to try, either. He’s done his job. He closed down the party. Wonder who complained this time?”

“Probably just some farmer who happened to drive by,” Quinn said.

“What I’d really like to know is how the hell Fletcher found out that Lucy Sheridan was at the party tonight,” Brinker said.

“Does it matter?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah,” Brinker said. “It matters. I don’t like the idea of that bastard interfering in my business.”

“Let it go,” Quinn said. “You don’t want to mess with Mason Fletcher.”

“Why not? He’s just a guy who works in a hardware store.”

“Look, the party’s over. Let’s go home and forget about Fletcher.”

Mason put on his sunglasses and moved out of the shadows. He lounged against the front fender of the sleek sports car.

“First we talk about Lucy,” he said.

Quinn slammed to a halt. “Fletcher? What are you doing here?”

Brinker stopped short, pinning Mason with the flashlight. The sunglasses did the job they were designed to do. They controlled the glare.

“Get away from my car,” Brinker snarled. “That paint job is custom. You’re going to scratch it.”

Mason ignored him. “Target Lucy Sheridan again and you won’t be going back to college for the fall semester.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brinker said. “Now, get away from my car.”

Quinn was clearly nervous. “Are you threatening us?”

“Something like that,” Mason said.

“Who talked?” Brinker said. His voice was hoarse with anger.

“That’s not important,” Mason said. “All you need to know is that I know what you were planning.”

Quinn was starting to look bewildered. “What’s going on here?”

“Who talked?”
Brinker shouted. He made a visible effort to get himself under control. “Never mind. I’ll find out, and when I do—”

“Yeah?” Mason said. “What, exactly, do you think you’ll do?”

“Get out of my way,” Brinker said, his voice tight with fury. “You’re going to be sorry you ever showed up tonight. Got that?”

“I hear you,” Mason said quietly. “Now it’s your turn to listen to me. Do not go near Lucy Sheridan again. If anything happens to her, I will assume you are responsible. Do you understand me, Brinker?”

Brinker suddenly snapped into full-blown rage. He dropped his end of the ice chest, picked up the nearest blunt object—a rock—lowered his head and charged.

“Hey,” Quinn yelped. “Don’t. Tristan, are you crazy?”

Mason did not move until the last instant, and then he moved very quickly, slipping out of the way. Brinker slammed into the car. There was a sharp, metallic screech as the rock scored a jagged strip of custom paint off the vehicle. Jolted, Tristan staggered back a couple of steps.

Mason walked past him, turned and looked back.

“Stay away from Lucy Sheridan,” he said.

He kept walking, giving Brinker and Quinn his back. Unfortunately, neither of them took the bait.

When he reached the truck, he opened the door, got inside, cranked the engine and drove home to the old cabin near the river.

He found Aaron asleep on the sofa. The pricey new computer that Mason and Deke had given him for his birthday was still glowing. The screen showed several lines of arcane computer code.

Mason locked the front door and checked the windows. It was a nightly ritual, one he had followed faithfully since the night a police detective had told him that his parents had been in a car accident.

He tossed a blanket over Aaron and climbed the stairs to his room. He powered up his own computer, the used one that he had picked up on an online auction site.

He went through the other nightly ritual, checking to make sure that the family bank account was not overdrawn and that there were no new bills to be paid. Satisfied that the electricity and the phones were safe for another month, he wrote an email to his uncle, giving a short summary of the night’s events. He told Deke that he thought the situation was under control.

He stripped down to his briefs, put his cell on the night table, turned off the lights and got into bed. With his arms folded behind his head, he contemplated the moonlit night through the window.

He had told Deke that he could handle the situation, but the truth was he had not yet come up with a plan. And it had become clear tonight that he would need one. Tristan Brinker was not just a spoiled, rich jerk. He was a full-blown psycho. Sooner or later he was going to explode. Mason didn’t know much about psychology, but he had no trouble recognizing a human predator when he met one. He also understood in some intuitive manner that it had been important to distract Brinker from his initial target. He was pretty sure he had succeeded, temporarily, at least, but that did not mean that Lucy and the other girls of Summer River were safe.

First thing in the morning he would talk to Lucy’s aunt and explain just how dangerous the situation was. His gut told him that it was important to get Lucy out of town—and out of Brinker’s reach—as soon as possible.

Then he would have to figure out how to get rid of Brinker. He was very sure now that the bastard would not stop.

The following morning, Brinker was spotted leaving town in the shiny new sports car his father had given him. He was never seen again. Within days rumors circulated that he had been the victim of a drug deal gone bad.

Brinker’s body was never recovered.

Thirteen years later,
Vantage Harbor, California

Lucy was about to take the first sip of a badly needed glass of white wine when she saw the Grieving Widow bearing down on the booth.

Alicia Gatley sliced effortlessly through the noisy throng of office workers crowding the popular bar at happy hour. She was the kind of woman who turned heads—male and female—when she entered a room. From the snug designer suit and sky-high heels to her manicured nails and sleek chignon, she was a classic Alfred Hitchcock blonde. The expensive boob job didn’t hurt, either, Lucy thought. But tonight the barracuda beneath the glowing façade was on full display.

“Oh, my goodness,” Hannah Carter whispered. “This isn’t going to be good.”

“Just what we needed to finish off an otherwise perfectly lousy day,” Ella Merrick added.

“She’s here for you, Lucy,” Hannah warned. “She blames you for what happened in court.”

“No kidding,” Lucy said.

Ella gave her a sympathetic look. “You were just the messenger.”

“We all know what happens to messengers.” Lucy took a quick swallow of the wine to fortify herself. “I told the boss that she was going to be trouble.”

“Looks like you were right,” Hannah said.

“I admit I hoped I would be safely out of town before she figured out that I was the one responsible for her financial disaster,” Lucy said.

She was not looking forward to going back to Summer River in the morning, but at that moment—given the option—she would have preferred to be there rather than where she was, trapped in the booth with nowhere to run. At least she was not alone, she thought. Hannah and Ella were her best friends. They would not abandon her.

Hannah studied Alicia with a considering expression. “I wonder how she found out that you were the researcher who discovered that the dear departed had a second family in Canada?”

“Who knows?” Lucy said. “I suppose someone at the office let it slip. It’s not like what we do at Brookhouse is top secret.”

“The GW probably batted those false eyelashes at one of the male investigators on the staff who immediately fell all over himself telling her everything she wanted to know,” Ella said.

“A distinct possibility,” Lucy agreed.

She was the one who had nicknamed the second Mrs. Gatley the Grieving Widow. It had been a tribute to Alicia’s obvious acting talents. The name had stuck. Now everyone in the forensic genealogy department of Brookhouse referred to Alicia as the GW.

Alicia was closing in rapidly. Her carefully made-up face was splotchy with rage. The rapid-fire snap-snap-snap of her towering heels on the wood floor was so sharp Lucy was amazed there were no sparks.

“Brace yourselves,” she said. “Remember, we are professionals.”

“Does that mean we can’t take her down when she starts calling you names and flinging wine in your face?” Hannah asked. “Just curious.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means,” Lucy said. “We represent Brookhouse Research. Our behavior reflects on the firm.”

“Sure, take all the fun out of the evening,” Ella said.

“It won’t be that bad,” Lucy said. “She’s pissed, so she may call me a few names, but she won’t fling wine in my face. It would ruin that cool Grace Kelly thing she’s got going on.”

“Got news for you,” Ella said. She did not take her eyes off the GW. “She’s no longer channeling Grace Kelly. Looks more like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Before she gets here, I’d like to place a small side bet. I’ve got five bucks says she’s so mad she’s going to try to bitch-slap Lucy.”

“I say she’ll go for the wine toss,” Hannah said. “It’s got more drama.”

“You’re on,” Ella said.

“Stop it, both of you,” Lucy said. “She’s not going to make a fool of herself in front of all these people.”

Alicia arrived at the booth and pinned Lucy with a demonic glare.

“It’s your fault that everything went wrong,” she raged. “You had no right to interfere with my life, you damn bitch. Who do you think you are?”

“I was just doing my job, Mrs. Gatley,” Lucy said. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Brookhouse Research was hired by the attorneys handling your husband’s estate. The trust provided for his children.”

“Bernie never told me about any children. I’m positive he didn’t have any. You tracked down some deadbeats up in Canada and bribed them to pretend they were Bernie’s long-lost offspring. Admit it.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gatley. Bernard Gatley had three children, two daughters and a son, by another woman. They are the primary heirs to the estate.”

“If those so-called heirs do exist, which I doubt very much, they are illegitimate.”

“The law makes no distinction,” Lucy said patiently. “A man’s children are his offspring regardless of whether or not he was married to their mother. But in this case that is not even an issue, because Mr. Gatley was actually married to the mother of his three heirs, who are now adults with children of their own.”

“You can’t prove it,” Alicia said, her voice very tight.

“That’s just it, Mrs. Gatley, Brookhouse Research did provide extensive proof that your husband’s offspring have every right to a portion of their father’s estate.”

“A portion?” Alicia’s voice went up a notch, hitting the shrill threshold. “They’re getting the best properties and all of the stocks and bonds.”

“You heard the estate lawyers and the judge. Mr. Gatley’s other family has every right to their share of the estate.”

Ella smiled benignly. “It’s not as if you didn’t get a very nice chunk of change yourself.”

Alicia turned on her. “I’m only getting a fraction of what I was supposed to receive. Bernie promised me that everything would come to me. Why in hell do you think I married him?”

There was a short, fraught pause. Lucy became aware of the hushed silence that had settled in the bar.

“I really don’t think you want to discuss such personal matters in here,” she said very softly.

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, bitch,” Alicia screeched. “If Bernie really did have kids, why didn’t they show up at the funeral?”

“The three people I found in Canada were small children when their parents split up,” Lucy explained. “They lost track of their father years ago. The reality is that he walked away from the family at some point and never looked back. They believed that he was dead.”

“Which he is now,” Ella pointed out cheerfully.

“I sacrificed two years of my life by marrying that old geezer. And what do I get? A measly few thousand dollars.
And it’s all your fault.
”

Evidently having noticed that Lucy, Ella and Hannah all had tight, secure grips on the stems of their wineglasses, Alicia spun around. She swept up a full beer glass from a nearby table and hurled the contents straight at Lucy’s face.

Before anyone could react, Alicia stormed back through the herd of fascinated happy-hour patrons, slammed open the glass doors and disappeared out into the late-afternoon sunshine.

Lucy sighed and picked up one of the three small cocktail napkins on the table. She used it to wipe some of the beer off her face. Ella and Hannah offered their own napkins.

The man whose beer glass had been commandeered for the drama gave Lucy an apologetic look.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t realize what she intended to do until it was all over.”

“Not your fault,” Lucy assured him.

“Disgruntled client?” he asked. “By the way, my name is Carl.”

“She wasn’t the client,” Ella said.

“Just a sore loser,” Hannah explained.

“Mind if I ask what it is exactly that you three do for a living?” Carl said.

“We work for a private investigation firm,” Lucy explained. “Brookhouse Research.”

“Cool. Lady private eyes?” Carl was definitely interested now. “Do you carry guns?”

“No,” Lucy said firmly. “Mr. and Mrs. Brookhouse are the licensed investigators in the firm. The three of us work in the forensic genealogy department.”

Carl was clearly disappointed, but he made an effort not to let it show. “So what kind of research involves forensic genealogy?”

“Generally speaking, we get most of our work from attorneys representing estates,” Hannah said. “We locate missing or unknown heirs and inform them of their inheritances.”

“And sometimes vice versa,” Ella added. “People who believe themselves to be heirs to an estate come to us to ask us to find proof.”

“Got it.” The man snapped his fingers. “You’re heir hunters.”

“The job description covers a lot of territory,” Lucy said.

She kept her tone cool and professional, wary of Carl’s reaction. Many people were not even aware that searching for lost heirs was a business. Those who did know about it often considered the work to be a rather unsavory side of the private investigation business.

There was no denying that there were some shady operators in the field. They worked the margins of the trade, hoping to score big by tracking down the rare heir to a multimillion-dollar estate who was unaware of his or her good fortune. The heir hunter’s goal was to convince the heir to sign a contract granting the investigator a percentage of the inheritance in exchange for revealing the source of the fortune. But Brookhouse Research prided itself on sticking to the respectable side of the business.

“Looks like I win the bet,” Hannah said.

“How do you figure that?” Ella asked. “The GW assaulted Lucy, just as I predicted.”

“Yes, but she didn’t slap her,” Hannah said.

“Didn’t toss wine in her face, either,” Ella said. “She used beer from a neighboring table.”

“That’s a mere technicality,” Hannah declared.

Ella smiled, triumphant. “As those of us in the forensic genealogy trade are aware, mere technicalities often make all the difference.” She held out her hand, palm up. “I believe you owe me five bucks.”

“Excuse me,” Lucy said. “While you two argue about the bet, I am going to go home and finish packing.”

The waiter bustled over with a clean bar towel.

“The manager says that there won’t be any charge for the three wines,” he said.

“Thanks.” Lucy took the towel and blotted beer from the jacket of her business suit. “I think I’ll put the dry-cleaning bill down on my expense sheet.”

“You should definitely do that,” Ella said.

Hannah nodded. “Absolutely.”

The waiter hovered closer and lowered his voice. “Mind if I ask what you did to make that woman so mad?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Lucy said.

The waiter nodded knowingly. “She thinks you’re seeing her guy, huh?”

Shocked, Lucy paused in the act of dabbing at the sleeve of her jacket. “That’s ridiculous. Why would two intelligent women get into a fight over a man?”

“That’s so last century,” Hannah said.

“What happened a few minutes ago was a much more serious matter,” Ella explained.

“Right.” The waiter brightened. “It was all about money.”

“A
lot
of money,” Lucy said.

Carl laughed. “Let me take a wild guess here. You three aren’t exactly the romantic types, are you?”

“Our profession tends to make a person somewhat jaded,” Lucy said. “After a while you realize that everyone has an agenda. At the top of most people’s lists there is, however, usually one of two possible priorities.”

“Yeah?” Carl looked expectant. “What are they?”

“Money or revenge,” Lucy said. “It’s amazing how often the two tend to go together.”

“Wow.” Carl was awed by the insight. “That’s heavy, real heavy.”

“No,” Lucy said. “It’s human nature.” She slipped out from behind the table. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I’m going home.”

“Found any other lost heirs lately?” Carl called after her.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Lucy said. She hitched the strap of her purse over her shoulder and started toward the door. “Me.”