Sharp Edges (17 page)

"Since my late twenties."

"You were a cop before that, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

She tipped her head slightly to the side. "Why did you quit police work?"

He hesitated. "I don't function well in a bureaucracy. I'm not much of a team player. I'm more of a loner. I needed to be my own boss."

"You like to give orders, not take them."

"I guess that about sums it up," he agreed.

"So you started your own business?"

"It was a one-man operation at first. Then I hired Quint Yates. He's incredible with a computer. A lot of modern investigation depends on computers. I started to expand into corporate work. That's when Damien March contacted me. He had his own company, too. He suggested we merge and go after the high-end private market."

"Did it work?"

"No." Cyrus's eyes were clear and cold. "I realized almost from the start that I had made a mistake. For Katy's sake, I tried to make it fly. But within six months I knew I would have to end the partnership. Unfortunately, the Hades cup job came along before I made my move."

"You really think Damien March stole the cup and set you up to take the fall."

"I don't think he did it," Cyrus said. "I know it."

"Where does your wife come into this? Why do you believe that he killed her?"

"Earlier today you told me that Adam Daventry was a user. A kind of vampire who sucked what he wanted out of others. March was one of those, too."

"What do you mean?"

"My wife was a very gentle woman. Very beautiful. Very delicate. Very innocent. She never stood a chance against March."

Eugenia frowned. "I still don't understand why you think he killed her."

"I told you, she knew too much. She was a liability. He had to cover his trail."

"But how did your wife learn his plans? Did she see something she shouldn't have seen? Overhear a phone conversation that incriminated March?"

"No. Not exactly." Cyrus looked down into the depths of his coffee. "As I said, he was a user. He needed Katy's help to carry out the plans for the theft of the Hades cup. So he seduced her."

Eugenia nearly fell off her chair. "He
seduced
her?"

"He took advantage of her naïveté to set me up. And when he no longer needed her, he got rid of her."

Eugenia was speechless. "Wait a second here. Let me see if I've got this straight. You're telling me that your wife had an affair with your business partner, aided and abetted him in his criminal scheme, and then got murdered by him when he covered his tracks."

Cyrus's gaze turned fierce. "March took advantage of her gentle, trusting nature. He deceived her and then he destroyed her."

"Gentle, trusting nature, huh? So sweet and naïve that she didn't know the difference between right and wrong? So delicate that she couldn't be expected to respect her wedding vows?"

"What the hell are you saying?"

"Cyrus, I'm sorry for your loss. You obviously cared for her very deeply. But I think you've allowed your old feelings for her to blind you to the obvious. It sounds to me like your wife cheated on you, plain and simple."

He tossed his napkin down on the table "I think it's time to leave."

"I don't care how you wrap it up and tie it with a ribbon, the woman you married lacked character, backbone, and a sense of honor."

"Goddamn it, don't you dare say that about Katy."

"It's the truth from where I sit. Where was her loyalty to you, her husband, in all this?"

He looked very dangerous now. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you ever cheat on her?"

"Never."

"Why not?"

Seething anger burned in the depths of his eyes. "She was my
wife
."

"You were her husband. She was supposed to be loyal to you." Memories of the day her father had given her his mealy-mouthed reasons for filing for a divorce flashed in Eugenia's head. "Even if, for some reason, she no longer loved you, that is no excuse for her weak, dishonorable, self-indulgent behavior."

"Damn it, Eugenia—"

"I have no patience with people who have no sense of responsibility and personal integrity. And to think that you've spent three years tracking her killer. She didn't do anything to deserve such loyalty from you."

"If you say one more word—"

"I won't." She shot to her feet, aware that her hands were trembling. "Excuse me, I have to make a trip to the ladies' room."

"Sit down."

"Don't worry, I'll be right back. You've got the car keys. I certainly don't intend to walk home, and I doubt if there's a taxi on the island." She swung around on her heel and started off through the crowd of diners.

She did not look back. She knew that if she did she would see the rage in Cyrus's face. As it was, she could have sworn that she felt the heat of it clear across the restaurant.

Stupid. Ridiculous. Why on earth had she let herself get carried away like that? It was none of her business if Cyrus thought his wife had been an angel. The man was entitled to his view of the past. She had no right to deprive him of whatever comfort his memories gave him.

What she had done was inexcusable.

When she went back to the table she would apologize.

She hurried down the narrow hall marked
Restrooms
, found the door labeled
Mermaids
, and pushed it open. She was relieved to see that she had the facility to herself. She walked to the mirror and stared bleakly at herself.

What in the name of heaven had come over her? She'd gone bonkers out there because of something that did not even concern her. She
never
lost her self-control like that.

The restroom door opened behind her. Eugenia tensed, half-afraid that Cyrus had followed her with the intention of continuing the argument.

In the mirror she watched as a small, gaunt woman of about thirty walked into the room. She was dressed in faded, paint-splotched jeans and a scruffy sweater. Lanky blond hair fell straight down her back, framing thin, angular features and pale eyes.

"I'm Rhonda Price. Fenella Weeks says you're looking for me."

"Yes." Eugenia whirled around. "Yes, I want to talk to you. It's about your paintings. My name is—"

"I know who you are." Rhonda clenched her spidery fingers into fists. "I came here to tell you to stay away from me. Do you understand? I don't want to talk to you about my work. I don't want to talk to anyone about it."

"Please, I have to ask you some questions."

"Leave me alone, damn you. Don't come near me." Rhonda whipped around, jerked open the restroom door, and ran out into the hall.

Unable to think of anything more productive to do, Eugenia launched herself away from the counter and raced after Rhonda. She reached the hall in time to see the other woman turn to the left and flee toward a door at the back of the restaurant.

Rhonda went through the opening and vanished into the night.

Eugenia dashed after her. Outside she found herself on a dark, poorly illuminated section of the old pier. The smell of dead fish warned her that she was standing downwind of the restaurant's huge garbage bins.

Light, running footsteps sounded. Rhonda was going around the rear of the restaurant. Probably headed toward the parking lot, Eugenia thought. There might be time to catch her.

Without the least notion of what she would do or say if she did catch Rhonda, Eugenia broke into a run. She was very glad she had not worn high heels.

A short, sharp cry sounded at the back of the pier. It was cut off abruptly. A second later, Eugenia heard an ominous splash.

She hurried around the rear corner of the restaurant. There was no sign of Rhonda. She went to the edge of the pier and looked into the water.

There was just enough light to see Rhonda floating facedown. She was not struggling.

Eugenia glanced around frantically and spotted an old, doughnut-shaped life preserver hanging on the railing. Next to it was a rusted metal ladder that descended into the cold, black water.

"Get help," she yelled at the top of her lungs as she kicked off her shoes. "There's a woman in the water."

She prayed that one of the busboys or someone sleeping on a boat in the marina had heard her. There was no time to wait for assistance. Rhonda Price was drowning.

Eugenia kicked off her shoes. She grabbed the life preserver and scrambled awkwardly down the old ladder. It groaned beneath her weight.

She heard footsteps on the pier above her. Not coming to help. Receding into the distance.

"Wait," Eugenia shouted. "Get help."

But the fleeing footsteps faded into the night.

The ladder gave out another wrenching, grinding groan. Metal scraped on metal. The rung on which Eugenia was balanced gave way.

She fell the remaining three feet.

The shocking cold of the water hit her with the force of icy lightning.

Eleven

«
^
»

"S
o much for not needing a bodyguard." Cyrus stopped in front of the mirrored fireplace to stoke the blaze with short jabs of the poker. "I can't even let you go to the ladies' room by yourself."

"I'll get it right next time, I swear I will." Eugenia's eyes gleamed with amusement above the rim of a mug of hot tea. "All I ask is another chance to prove that I can go to the restroom and get back on my own. I swear I've got it figured out."

"I'm glad you find it amusing. Wait until Tabitha Leabrook hears about this."

"I vote we don't tell her."

He exhaled slowly. "Good plan. She'll only worry."

"And she'll start asking questions," Eugenia said dryly. "I'm supposed to be inventorying the Daventry glass collection, not investigating Nellie's disappearance. As far as Tabitha knows, you're the one who's looking into a possible murder, not me."

"Yeah. Things are getting messy, aren't they? Are you sure you're warm enough?" Cyrus set the poker into the chrome stand.

"I'm fine. I wasn't in the water very long, thanks to you. By the way, how did you manage to be at the head of the pack that came charging out of the restaurant?"

"A busboy started yelling that there were two women in the water."

"And you naturally leaped to the automatic conclusion that one of them was me?"

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his chinos. "As you were not in sight, it was logical to assume you might be one of the women in trouble. I had a sudden, blinding image of Tabitha Leabrook demanding to know how the hell I had managed to screw up the supposedly simple job of keeping an eye on you."

"Ah." She nodded as if in sudden comprehension. "So it was the thought of your business reputation going down the tubes that galvanized you."

"Let's just say that I was inspired to move a little more quickly than usual." There was no point telling her about the chill that had zapped him when he had heard the busboy shouting for assistance. He had known, before he had even seen her clinging to the ladder, one arm cradling the unconscious Rhonda, that she was in trouble.

"Well, you can stop worrying about me, Cyrus. You heard Dr. Jones. I don't show any signs of hypothermia. Rhonda was the one who was hurt. Meditation said she must have hit her head when she lost her balance and went over the side of the pier. Peaceful agreed with her."

"I know." Cyrus gazed down into the flames. He could not forget how cold and shivery Eugenia had been when he had climbed down the ladder to haul her and Rhonda to safety. The icy water of Puget Sound could kill a person in less than half an hour.

At least Meditation Jones's small clinic had looked like a medical clinic was supposed to look, he thought. He had been half-afraid he would find a shadowy, incense-laden room stocked with strange herbs and candles.

He had been greatly relieved to see a lot of shiny, high-tech equipment and bright, clean surfaces. Meditation had actually worn a white coat over her long, loose dress. There had even been some framed paperwork from the University of Washington medical school hanging on the wall.

Meditation had examined Rhonda first and then called for an air ambulance to take the unconscious patient to a mainland hospital. She had then turned her attention to Eugenia, who had been huddled in a blanket.

Cyrus had hovered.

Meditation had finally given him one of her serene smiles and offered her own brand of medical reassurance.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Colfax. Eugenia is fine. Her aura is as strong as your own. The colors are bright and true and clear. All she needs is a good night's rest."

He decided that was Meditation's version of "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning."

He had been settling Eugenia, still wrapped in a blanket, into the front seat of the Jeep, when he heard the
whump-whump-whump
of the helicopter's rotor blades. Rhonda had been on her way to a hospital before Cyrus had gotten Eugenia back to Glass House.

He had to admit Eugenia did look all right. No, he corrected himself, she looked better than all right. She had taken a shower and put on a thick, white terry cloth bathrobe. Her dark hair, amber eyes, and striking features were a sultry, dramatic contrast to the snowy robe and the crystal room.

"You saved Rhonda Price's life," he said. "I wonder if she'll be grateful."

"I doubt it. Before she went running off down the pier, she made it very clear that she did not want anything to do with me." Eugenia grimaced. "I won't be able to talk to her until she gets out of the hospital. What if she doesn't come back to the island when she's released?"

Cyrus went to the nearest bank of windows and stood looking out into the night. "If she skips, I'll find her for you."

"You will?"

"Yeah. I've got a few questions for her, myself."

"What questions?" Eugenia asked swiftly. "According to you, my theories about Nellie's death are just fantasies born out of my over-developed sense of responsibility."

"I told you I'd help you investigate, and I will." He swung around and leveled a finger at her. "But no more taking matters into your own hands the way you did tonight. Is that clear?"