Blue Clouds Page 2

  His expression remained impassive as Seth waited for the bartender to deliver Dirk’s drink.

  “Mr. Wyatt.” Dirk nodded respectfully in greeting.

  Seth regarded him stonily. “No names.”

  “I apologize. You’re right.” Dirk twisted in his seat, his back against the tavern wall, and one eye on the action.

  “You’ve found nothing new,” Wyatt said without prompting. He tightened his lips into icy disdain. He’d thought his new detective better than that.

  “I have questioned everyone I could find who was here that night. The incident is over five years old now. Three of your witnesses are dead from drug- and gang-related incidents. Half of the rest have disappeared from sight. The others remember only what they told the cops. I’m working on it, but it will cost you a bundle if I track down all those gone missing. And you’re not likely to get any more out of them than the cops did at the time. The memories of junkies are not particularly reliable.”

  “They’re not all junkies,” Wyatt responded automatically, his gaze shifting to the motley crowd at the bar.

  “No, the rest are murderers and thieves. If this is where you went that night, you should have had your head examined. Have you tried hypnosis to see if you can recall why in hell you chose this place?”

  “My shrink declares I’m not a good candidate for hypnosis,” Wyatt answered dryly. “I think that’s shrink talk for I’m too hardheaded.”

  Dirk bit back a smile, uncertain if Seth would appreciate a response to his humor. “It was just a suggestion.” Dirk shrugged. “I’ve gone over the police reports, talked with the garage personnel who handled the wreckage later. The accident smashed the car like an accordion. Any evidence of side-swiping or tampering disappeared with the impact. I’ve corroborated every line of the police report. They did their job well, although it was a little late by the time you demanded the investigation.”

  “I was unconscious until then,” Wyatt reminded him, again in that dry tone that gave nothing away.

  Dirk shrugged. “Are you certain this is the bar you were in before the accident?”

  “I’m not certain of anything. I have no memory of that night at all. The hospital didn’t test my blood alcohol until well after the fact. Apparently, they spent their time trying to save my life instead. But I’m not a drinking man. I do not stop in bars without good reason. I do not drink to excess. My wife was the one who leveled the drunkenness charge, and only after witnesses reported seeing me here before the accident.”

  “The junkies in this place would lie for the price of an upper.”

  Seth turned an icy glare back to him. “They’re not all junkies,” he repeated with hostility. “One of the witnesses was a friend of mine, you’ll recall.”

  Seth could practically hear his detective’s thoughts. He’d heard it all before. The drunken NFL player. Right. Like he’d stand up in court. He hadn’t, of course, which was why Seth’s wife had lost the case. But even if the court hadn’t believed Doug, Seth did.

  “All right. So Brown saw you here. Could you have come here to meet him? Why don’t you let me interview him? He’s the most logical reason for your presence here.”

  “Doug has blackouts. His memory isn’t clear on that night. I might have come here looking for him. I’ve dragged him out of places like this before. But he doesn’t remember calling me. All he remembers is that I sat here and had a drink and that he wasn’t with me. That I looked as if I were waiting for someone. And when no one arrived, I left without noticing him.”

  Dirk grimaced his disbelief and Seth became defensive. “I know it sounds suspicious, but Doug wouldn’t lie. He only mentioned the incident because he thought it would help if he told the police I had only one drink. And because I’d worried myself sick thinking I’d been as drunk as Natalie said. He swore I wasn’t.”

  “Generous of him.” Dirk’s sarcasm revealed his opinion of the truthfulness of alcoholic ex-NFL players reduced to playing chauffeur for wealthy men. “I can go after the rest of those witnesses, or I can start tracking your list of people who would have benefited from your demise. Do you have a preference?”

  Seth tossed back the rest of his drink and, pushing up from the booth, threw a bill on the table. “The list of my enemies is even longer and more complicated than your list of witnesses. Try the top five of both lists, then get back to me.” He walked out without so much as glancing back at the crowd of thugs and thieves behind him.

  Feeling a shift in the room’s tension, Dirk took a final chug of his beer, then left, uncomfortable with the crowd’s focus. He didn’t look like a rich white boy either. Aside from his Hispanic features, Dirk wore a battered Bengals hat he’d stolen from an airport seat, a leather bomber jacket with a rip in the pocket, and no gold. He’d even dug out his oldest pair of running shoes before driving down here. But he had the distinct feeling that the crowd behind him would put a knife through his back because of his looks as easily as for his possessions.

  The streetlight outside the door had been shot out and not replaced. Every store owner who valued his life had closed up at dark and gone home. Only the pounding music and flashing neon light behind him broke the silent gloom of the street. Grateful for the license allowing him to carry the shoulder holster beneath his jacket, Dirk cautiously approached his car.

  He heard the first sounds of a scuffle as he reached the corner where he’d parked his Chevy. He contemplated just climbing behind the wheel and driving off, but the expensive Jag gleaming beneath a bare bulb at a nearby warehouse alerted him. With a sigh of resignation, Dirk pulled his gun and slipped along the shadows to the alley.

  He didn’t know why he bothered. With a grimace, Dirk shouldered the pistol, caught the man staggering backward in his direction, choked him with his arm, kidney-punched him, then let him drop as he surveyed the damage wreaked by the man felling his last opponent with a savage kick to the groin. The grace and swiftness with which Seth Wyatt moved spoke of years of combat training. Dirk grunted in sympathy for the assailant’s pain but kept a careful eye on the other three men curled up and moaning in the filth of the alley pavement.

  He hadn’t heard gunshots. He couldn’t see blood. Judging by the blow he’d seen, Wyatt had felled them all with his fists and feet. And his pent-up rage. Definitely a dangerous man.

  “Did they say what they wanted?” Dirk asked wryly as Seth calmly dusted off his trousers and stepped over one of the thugs.

  “I don’t think they were hired to talk.” Wearily, Seth walked out of the darkness, rolling his sleeves down. “Find out who hired them.”

  With that, he walked away.

  Shaking his head, Dirk watched Seth Wyatt climb into his fancy Jag and drive off. The man either had nerves of steel or no brains at all.

  Dialing his cellular, Dirk kicked the scum at his feet, and called the cops.

  Wyatt hadn’t gotten where he was today by having no brains.

  Chapter 3

  Pippa crumpled the letter from Mary Margaret in her pocket for the thousandth time as she hurried down the plane ramp into the airport terminal. After leaving all she knew and loved behind, she needed the reassurance that someone she knew and loved waited ahead.

  Reluctant as she was to lose the security of her disguise, she headed for the rest room. The uncomfortable padding around her middle had to go. As an amateur in the local theater group, she knew all about padding and makeup. She didn’t think Billy would figure out that the red-haired, middle-aged, plump woman who left the hairdresser and bought a ticket for the bus to Memphis was her. She’d kept the disguise when she reached the airport and bought a plane ticket to California. Now that she was here, surely she was safe.

  Her hometown police force—the same police who had let Billy out on bond—hadn’t arrested Billy for the damage to her house. They’d looked at the mess and blamed vandals, advised her to buy stronger locks or move to a better neighborhood.

  For a while, she’d contemplated buying a gun
and shooting Billy herself. Fortunately, her temper cooled quickly. The terror engendered by the viciousness of Clio’s injuries did not. She’d hung around only long enough to see if Clio would live and to find her kitty a home.

  She didn’t linger to see what would happen once Billy came looking for her again. She knew better than to expect a restraining order to stop him. She’d seen enough abuse victims in the emergency room on a Friday night, seen some of them sent to the morgue. Half of them had restraining orders.

  Locking the stall and stripping off her blouse to reach the padding, Pippa sighed in relief as her own trim figure emerged. She probably shouldn’t have panicked and run, but what she’d told Abigail hadn’t been entirely wrong. She needed this escape. She needed new scenery so she could put her head together again. And she needed a job.

  Wryly contemplating her nearly empty savings account, Pippa left the stall, washed off the theater makeup, applied cover-up to the bruises, and examined the results in the mirror. Cosmetics barely hid the green and purple over her cheekbones, but she liked the effect of the henna on her mousy brown hair, and the way the reddish glint enhanced the green of her eyes. And she definitely approved of the sassy short cut. Running her fingers through the layered thickness, she plumped it out nicely without need of a comb. Even if she had lost everything, knowing she looked better than she ever had cheered her considerably.

  To make her escape without Billy knowing where she’d gone, she’d left everything behind, all her clothes, her house, everything. She’d left keys with friends, but they didn’t dare go near the house or Billy would know she’d talked to them.

  She’d arranged for a friend at the clothes drive to take a box of her clothes before she’d left so no one would report to Billy that she was packing up and moving out. The box would arrive at the Greyhound station eventually. She hadn’t wanted to give anyone Mary Margaret’s address—not until she was sure she was safe.

  Until she had an address, she had only what she carried in her shoulder bag. Her wallet was severely depleted after buying the bus and plane tickets. She’d used cash, not credit cards, in hopes of curtailing any trace Billy might put on her. Right now, the only positive thought she could summon was her improved appearance.

  Taking a deep breath, Pippa plunged into the heavy people traffic on the concourse. She’d told Mary Margaret to meet her at baggage claim. She had no baggage, but she needed the brief walk to become herself again. Billy wasn’t that good a detective. He couldn’t find her once she walked out of the airport in California. No one would connect the plump older woman on the plane with the slim young woman walking out now. She was free.

  She had thought about running to Mitchell or Barbara, but Billy would have checked with her brother and sister first thing. So she’d called and told them she was taking an extended vacation and that she would keep in touch.

  Then Pippa had taken out Mary Margaret’s last letter and carried it like an Olympic torch to the airport, where she’d made her phone calls so Billy couldn’t trace them. Despite all of Mary Margaret’s problems, she’d sounded excited about Pippa’s visit. The other calls left her a trifle uncertain, but she could face only one ordeal at a time.

  Meg’s beaming face finally appeared through the crowd, and Pippa shouted in the genuine relief of homecoming.

  “Pippa Cochran! I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! Look at you! My word, you’re stunning. You look like a fashion model. And look at me, a frumpy old housewife. Oh, my, it’s so good to see you. Where are your bags? George has the car parked outside and security will run him off any minute.”

  Meg’s maternal plumpness enveloped Pippa in a welcoming hug. Tears of joy sprang to Pippa’s eyes as she returned the hug. Except for a few extra pounds, Meg hadn’t changed from the exuberant, loving teenager Pippa remembered.

  “When was the last time you saw a five-foot-five fashion model with chipmunk cheeks?” Pippa scoffed. “You’ve been reading too many romances again.” Stepping back, she held Meg by the shoulders and surveyed the changes made in the last twelve years. “Having kids agrees with you. You don’t look a day older than when I saw you last.”

  Meg blushed and grinned. “Thank you for the lie. You’re going to be good for me, kid. Things have been a little dismal at home of late. We need a Pollyanna to remind us of how much we have.”

  Shifting her bulging shoulder bag, Pippa marched toward the door. “Then let’s not keep George waiting. Is he still as handsome as ever?”

  Meg hurried to catch up, glancing over her shoulder at the baggage carousel. “Your suitcase, Pippa? You are staying awhile, aren’t you?”

  “My bags will follow,” Pippa replied airily, suddenly desperate to escape the airport and enter the real world again. She hadn’t just run from Billy. She’d run toward a whole new life. She couldn’t wait to get started.

  Without questioning, Meg led her outside to the battered minivan.

  “I figured they’d tow me off and make me strand you here,” George admonished as they climbed in. “Hi, Pippa, how’s tricks?”

  It was an old joke between them, and Pippa grinned in appreciation of the memory. “Well, your mind hasn’t changed any, George, even if it does have more room to grow than before.”

  Starting the engine, George ruefully rubbed the bald spot at the back of his head. “All those hair roots get in the way. There’s just that much less for the kids to turn gray.”

  They laughed and joked and caught up on old acquaintances as George navigated L.A.’s freeways. Pippa exclaimed over the multilaned bumper-to-bumper traffic, and her hosts laughed at her Kentucky naiveté.

  The space-age highways gradually reduced to four lanes along the scenic coastline. Pippa gasped at the views, at the flowers—in April, roses! She opened the windows and breathed in the sunshine, shutting out all memory of Kentucky sleet and terror.

  Pippa exclaimed again as they turned from Highway 101 into the charming town of San Luis Obispo. She wanted to explore the sun-drenched mission, the art galleries, the cafes—everything.

  Meg laughed. “If you stay here any length of time, you’ll have your fill of tourists soon enough. You’ll like Garden Grove. It’s much quieter.”

  As they reached the narrow rural road surrounded by flat fields and framed by mountains, Pippa finally calmed down and began to talk of the present and the future.

  “Meg said in her letter that they closed down the printing plant. Is there any talk of reopening?”

  Both faces in the front seat turned grim. George answered first. “Wyatt tore down the plant last month.”

  “The town will die, and it’s all Seth Wyatt’s fault,” Meg finished bitterly. “The plant used to employ two hundred people. Now they’re moving away, looking for work elsewhere, and business has already dropped off. The people left have no money. It’s the beginning of the end.”

  “My father and grandfather kept that pharmacy running, even through the Depression. I hate being the one who loses it,” George said mournfully. “I wish the damned man would come out of hiding long enough so we could talk to him.”

  “Talk to the Grim Reaper?” Meg scoffed. “Since when can we reason with Death?”

  Worriedly, Pippa listened to the exchange. “The Grim Reaper? Is that what they’re calling this Seth Wyatt? Isn’t he the man you said advertised for an assistant and a nurse’s aide?”

  Meg made an impolite noise. “Even starving, no one will take him up on the offer. The town has despised the Wyatts forever, but Seth has brought the name to new lows. He crippled his son with his recklessness, then sued his ex-wife with every big lawyer in the state until she finally let him have the boy. Now he’s destroyed the industry that was the one good thing the Wyatts did for the town.”

  “They say his wife walked away with a large chunk of his fortune,” George reminded her. “We don’t know the whole story.”

  “We can see our future plowed under by bulldozers,” Meg replied angrily. “What will happen to
Mikey if you close the store and we move elsewhere?”

  The mention of their youngest child, crippled by muscular dystrophy, brought the subject to an abrupt close. With a forced attempt at cheerfulness, Pippa inquired after all three Kelly children, diverting the conversation to happier topics.

  The knowledge that her new employer held the sobriquet of Grim Reaper did nothing to reassure Pippa’s sagging confidence.

  ***

  “You don’t really mean you took the job without an interview?” Horror written across her expressive face, Meg stared at Pippa over her cup of morning coffee.

  Pippa shrugged with more nonchalance than she felt. “I have to support myself somehow. Your letter saying Wyatt couldn’t hire anyone for a million dollars inspired me. I doubt if I’ll make a million dollars, but just think about that little boy out there. I called Mr. Wyatt from the airport, faxed my resume, and he faxed his acceptance. We’ve not discussed all the terms and so forth, but I’ll not be a burden to you, Meg. I can’t put Candy out of her room forever. You have enough problems without taking on mine.”

  “You’re still afraid of that psycho boyfriend, aren’t you?” Meg demanded, setting her cup down with a thump. Outside, a bird sang in the California version of lilacs.

  Looking at the bright sunshine pouring in the double kitchen windows, Pippa decided Southern California weather was as predictable as Kentucky’s was unpredictable. So far, she loved it. She was determined to stay here, one way or another.

  “Billy is not my boyfriend,” she pronounced carefully. “He’s a mistake I made when Mama was ill. A mistake I’ll not make again. I can take care of myself. If this job doesn’t work out, I’ll find another. I just want to start someplace where I have friends.”

  “You’ll need friends if you work for Seth,” Meg warned. “He’s lucky he still has his father’s housekeeper. She’s too old to go anywhere else. I don’t know where he found his secretary, but it wasn’t from around here. None of them come to town. They have their groceries shipped out to that mausoleum of a house. What will you use for transportation? That gothic horror is way out in the hills.”