To Laney, With Love Page 9

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Laney asked anxiously as they drove into an almost deserted parking lot near the West Vancouver waterfront.

  “The sign said John Lawson Park,” Ben remarked, cutting the engine. “We’re supposed to leave the car here and walk down the lane to the entrance to the Seawalk. There’s a back gate we can use to get on the grounds so we don’t have to weed through the journalists hounding the street entrance.”

  Laney nodded vaguely, staring at a row of evergreens that gave the parking lot an air of isolation, and mustered up her courage for a face-to-face meeting with her husband’s other wife. They’d gotten caught in the rush-hour traffic inching over the Lions Gate Bridge at a snail’s pace. There probably wasn’t a more picturesque place in the world for a traffic jam. But the splendor of the North Shore Mountains rising magnificently from the shoreline of the Burrard Inlet, their lofty shoulders draped with snowy shawls, had deepened the ache growing in her heart. The famous twin peaks, known as the Lions, had seemed to survey and protect the wealthy enclave of West Vancouver, which curled in an indolent crescent along the deep blue waters of the inlet to the west.

  Reese had referred to Vancouver once as Lotusland—the land of contentment, beautiful from sea to sky. Had he lived a life of contentment as Graham Walker with Kristel before his murder?

  Did she really want to know? A sick lump of fear nested in her stomach as she continued to stare out the windshield, unable to move.

  She swallowed hard as a sudden longing for Josh welled within her. Their call had been far too brief, and she’d let him do most of the talking because she was afraid he might be able to tell by her voice that something was wrong. But she felt much better knowing he was happy in Georgina’s care.

  “Ready?” Ben asked her.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied stiffly.

  They crossed a set of railroad tracks to reach the lane. Laney noted almost dully the leaded-glass windows and artful touches trimming the quaint cottages tucked beneath the dark, sweeping branches of fir and cedar trees.

  “Where’s the house?” she asked Ben, struggling to keep up with his long strides as they turned onto the Seawalk. Apartment towers lined the shore here, thousands of windows angled toward the view. Waves crashed against the rocks butting the asphalt walkway and dampened her face with a fine mist. In the distance, Vancouver Island resembled a huddled sleeping form.

  Ben glanced down at her and Laney felt her heart give a peculiar leap as his blue-black eyes noticeably softened. His midnight hair ruffled the worn collar of his brown leather jacket. His pace slowed to match hers and Laney had an insane desire to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow and follow the shimmering rosy path that beamed across the water, straight from the heart of a glorious salmon-and-gold sunset. But to do so would be a sheer act of denial in the worst way. Not to mention that Ben quite likely had a lady friend he’d prefer to share a sunset with.

  “Nelson said the house is located several lots east of an apartment building that resembles a pink birthday cake decorated with icing. We’re to look for a distinctive privacy fence. There’s a gate hidden in it and he’ll unlock it for us.”

  Laney nodded mutely and feigned great interest in some stones embedded in the path in the shape of a fish. She nearly bumped into an elderly gent as he stopped directly in front of her to unleash a butterscotch Airedale. The animal obediently bounded up to the dog path that was separated from the Seawalk by a chain link fence. Laney thought Josh and Scott would get a kick out of the stick-figure drawings on the sign posted at the entrance to the dog path that showed humans and canines their respective recreational areas.

  After they’d walked for several minutes in silence, Ben gestured toward a weathered cedar fence treated with a transparent blue stain. “That’s the fence we’re looking for.” He led her off the Seawalk and up a couple of steps where they could cross over the railroad tracks. Laney reluctantly followed him up a narrow winding trail that took them alongside the fence. She didn’t see any sign of a gate. She half hoped Nelson had made it up.

  Ben reached up and twisted a Gothic finial trimming the third fence post from the left. “Now this is a masterpiece of engineering and craftsmanship,” he exclaimed as the section of fence opened smoothly.

  He peered, as though intrigued, at the hinge mechanism, then flashed her a sheepish grin as he realized what he was doing. “Sorry.”

  Laney rolled her eyes, unable to resist his contrite expression, which reminded her so much of his son Scott. “It’s okay,” she assured him, venturing onto the gray brick path that wound through clumps of rhododendrons and azaleas toward a terrace at the back of the house. “Since we haven’t been able to drive past a bridge, dam or stadium without your giving them a curious perusal, I’m beginning to accept this as a quirk of your personality.”

  She lowered her voice, even though there wasn’t another soul in sight. “Not to mention that I’m exceedingly grateful for any excuse to postpone our face-off with Kristel for at least another ten seconds.”

  Ben laughed. “Not looking forward to it, are you?”

  “I’d rather clean out my basement. Or dust the medallion in my living-room ceiling with a cotton swab.”

  She felt Ben’s fingers settle on her elbow and give it a faint squeeze as he drew abreast of her. “Smile, we’re on camera,” he murmured in her ear. “There, on the pole holding the birdhouse. It’s probably part of the security system.”

  Cramps flexed in Laney’s stomach at the idea that Kristel might be observing her now—perhaps had even heard the remarks she’d just made. Nelson’s timely emergence from a French door at the back of the house, as if on cue, seemed to confirm their progress was being monitored.

  “I see you didn’t have any trouble with the directions,” the car dealership owner said briskly as they joined him on the terrace. Laney thought he appeared distinctly ill at ease. His right foot tapped nervously on the brick pavers and a worried frown creased his narrow brow. “Please come inside... God only knows if there are photographers lurking in the shrubbery.”

  In alarm, Laney looked back anxiously over her shoulder and scoured the garden. Surely anyone could be concealed behind the dense evergreens? A shudder passed through her. Ben squeezed her elbow again and she glanced at him briefly to exchange a look of encouragement before she took a deep breath and entered into Kristel and Graham’s house.

  They stepped directly into a spacious living room. A maid in a black-and-white uniform took their coats and hung them in an antique armoire near the door. The pretentiousness and sterile feel of the room jarred Laney’s nerves. The sleek sofas and dainty side chairs dared anyone to make themselves too comfortable for any length of time. It seemed a room designed only for entertaining and displaying the exquisite oil paintings mounted on the pale lemon walls. Laney found her eyes drawn to the vases of lilies and white roses that sat atop the grand piano in an alcove at the far end of the room. The vases enshrined a cluster of framed photographs, each frame a work of art in itself.

  She instinctively took a step closer toward them, but halted in mid-stride at the discreet sound of a woman clearing her throat. Laney followed the sound to the graceful figure of a young woman seated in a delicately wrought gilt armchair positioned near the window in the alcove. Kristel Walker, she presumed.

  Clothed in an elegant black pantsuit, the woman was a stark portrait of a grieving widow. Her hair fell in a curtain to her shoulders—its glossy darkness emphasizing the violet smudges of exhaustion highlighting her cheekbones and the fragility of her fine-boned features.

  Her only noticeable resemblance to her brother was her spare build and her unapproachable aura. The chair she sat in reminded Laney of a throne as she absorbed the overt hostility burning in Kristel’s hazel eyes and felt an answering response of resentment flare with a flurry deep inside her. Laney clamped her lips together and counted to ten slowly. A heated confrontation with
Kristel wouldn’t help matters.

  And, strange as it seemed, Laney understood Kristel’s fury. Laney remembered all too well the shock and anger she’d experienced when she’d been informed of Reese’s death in the avalanche. The numbing sense of grief and the terrible fear of how she was going to cope without him. She was still coming to grips with the trauma of having him return from the dead only to be taken from her again. Someday she prayed she’d be able to make it through a day without envisioning that house and Reese propped up in that bed. The thought that Reese might have betrayed her was eating her up inside, incessantly nibbling at the underpinnings of their life together and the memories that she held most dear.

  She fervently hoped Kristel would be as keen to ferret out answers as she was—no matter how painful it would be for both of them.

  “Kristel, this is Laney Dobson,” Nelson said, going to stand by his sister’s chair like a courtier who’d dispatched his duty.

  Laney gave him a nod of appreciative thanks and fumbled in her purse for the family photos she always carried in her wallet. “Thank you for seeing me,” she began, her voice shaking. “I realize this is terribly difficult and awkward for you—it is for me, too. My husband Reese was a financial analyst. He died in an avalanche here in Whistler fourteen months ago....” Slowly, stumbling, the words came describing the accident, the arrival of the anniversary card, and the valentine she had received from Reese two weeks ago.

  “Reese didn’t show up at the restaurant—probably because he spotted Ben. As the police may have told you, a woman gave me the address where to meet him. When I arrived, I found him upstairs. I tried to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but he was already dead.”

  Kristel remained stonily silent. Laney had the disquieting thought that either Kristel or her brother could have been the killer. Or have hired someone to do their bidding.

  Removing a photo of Reese from a plastic protective sleeve, Laney passed it to the other woman. “This was my husband.”

  Kristel reluctantly took it. Her gasp of surprise as she gazed down at the photograph reverberated in the room. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “He does look like Graham.” A tear slipped onto her cheek and trickled down her face.

  Laney felt tears gather in her own eyes. A hot lump of doubt churned beneath her ribs as she handed Kristel another photo. “This is our son, Josh. He’s nine now.”

  Kristel studied the photo and handed it back without comment, but Laney could see that the dark-haired woman’s jaw trembled violently.

  Laney straightened her spine determinedly. “The only explanation I can come up with...is that Reese must have suffered amnesia in the accident and taken on a new identity. I think he recently got his memory back and wasn’t sure how to deal with the situation, so he invited me to meet him here.”

  Kristel shifted suddenly in her chair and cast a cautious glance at her brother. “What do you think, Nelson? I have to admit M-Mrs. Dobson’s suggestion makes sense in an odd sort of way.” Her tone altered, taking on the grating sharpness of glass. “And it gives her all the more reason to have killed Graham. She was probably furious when Graham told her he was married to someone else.”

  Laney’s mouth dropped open and she saw a haze of red. What made this woman think she had the right to make accusations? Laney clenched her hands so tightly at her sides that her knuckles throbbed as she struggled to retain her dignity. She noticed Ben had tensed beside her, his jaw set like a bulldog’s ready to leap to her defense. It made her feel better that Kristel irritated him, too. But this was her battle and she was going to fend for herself. “I don’t blame you for your suspicions. I’d be a liar if I claimed I haven’t entertained a suspicion or two concerning your involvement in Reese’s murder.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Ladies, please,” Nelson cut in, dropping a placating hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if we all calm down and try to share information to see what we can piece together. Kristel, Mrs. Dobson asked me when you met Graham, but I wasn’t sure exactly.”

  Kristel flushed scarlet but answered the question. “We met at the end of March, at a charity gala on Grouse Mountain to raise funds for a local women’s shelter. I was in charge of organizing the door prizes for the dinner... and somehow or other, the name of Graham’s company was passed along to me. There were a number of corporate sponsors and financial institutions involved.” She looked down at her French-manicured hands. “I talked to Graham a couple of times by phone, but I didn’t actually meet him until that night. He gave me a call the following morning and asked me out for lunch.”

  Laney nodded. “Well, that certainly seems to substantiate my theory. I’m curious what Graham told you about his background. Dallyn Vohringer tells us Graham had used an inheritance from a grandmother to fund Connoisseur Specialty Wines?”

  “He told me he was an only child—born in Brandon, Manitoba. In fact, the grandmother he inherited the money from lived in Brandon. Her name was Millie Walker, I believe. She owned a furniture store. She raised him after his parents died in a car accident when he was in his teens. Apparently, they were hit by a train. It was very sad. Graham didn’t like talking about it.”

  Laney tried to make sense out of what Kristel was saying. “Reese’s parents divorced when he was six. He never saw his father again after that. His mother died when he was in university. There was no one in his family named Millie that I know of. Do you think he simply invented a past? Maybe it’s something he read in a novel or remembered from a movie.”

  She walked toward the pictures on the gleaming black surface of the piano. “May I?” she said, seeking permission to touch them.

  “Of course,” Kristel replied tightly.

  Laney felt her knees wobble unsteadily as the images in the photos lambasted her heart. Reese’s familiar grin. Kristel’s contented smile. The playful and formal poses. The obvious attraction between them. She was grateful she’d faced the initial shock of seeing Reese with his arms around another woman in the privacy of Graham’s office. For some reason, hearing Kristel refer to him as “Graham” allowed, her to put some distance between her feelings for Reese and the man who’d married Kristel.

  “Did Graham play the stock market?” she asked, finding that she could speak past the hurt that burned in her throat.

  “Not that I’m aware of. But before we were married, we agreed our financial situations would be completely separate—mostly to make my brother happy. We both signed a prenuptial agreement, mainly to keep Nelson from voicing any kind of objection during the wedding ceremony.” A wistful smile touched her lips. “Frankly, it was not a topic of great importance between us. And we forgave Nelson for interfering and acting like an overprotective big brother.”

  She rose from the chair and joined Laney at the piano. Kristel was tall enough to be a runway model and Laney instantly felt dwarfed by her. Kristel lovingly picked up a heavy crystal frame that held a photo of Graham carrying her over the threshold of the house. “Nelson’s wife, Sandy, took this one when we came back from our two-week honeymoon in France.”

  Laney noticed dully that Kristel had managed to talk her husband into wearing a wide gold wedding band. Reese had never worn one. Nor was he wearing his favorite watch. Had he lost it in the avalanche? Or was it possible this was a case of mistaken identity and someone just wanted her to think Graham Walker was Reese? Something niggled at the back of Laney’s mind but she couldn’t draw it forward.

  “What about Graham’s friends?” she asked. “Perhaps I could talk to some of them. They might know more about Graham’s background—or have some idea who may have wanted to kill him.”

  “No.” Kristel replaced the photograph on the piano and aligned it just so with the tips of her fingers. “I would prefer to let the police handle this.” She shot Laney a warning glance. “To be quite honest, I find your timing rather ironic. If you loved him so much, why didn’t you search more thoroughly for him w
hen he originally went missing? I think you’re covering your tracks because your boyfriend nearly caught you in the act.”

  Laney bristled as though she’d been slapped. Anger turned her words to ice as she tried to explain. “There weren’t any tracks or signs discovered in the snow that would give anyone reason to hope he might have escaped the avalanche. The authorities traced his beeper signal to the crevasse and tried in vain to reach him. But tell me, why did you agree to meet me if you had no intention of assisting in the investigation? Was it curiosity?”

  Laney felt her temper skyrocket as Kristel looked down her long, slim nose at her.

  “Hardly. I’d hoped we could come to some agreement about Graham’s burial arrangements. But perhaps it would be better done through our respective lawyers.”

  Laney’s chin shot up a notch—anything to give her an extra millimeter or two of height against this towering, sanctimonious snob. “I laid my husband to rest on Mount Currie over a year ago. How and where you wish to lay your Graham to rest is entirely your own decision.” Turning abruptly on her heel, Laney marched out of the house.

  She’d have gone out the front door if she’d known where it was located. The fact she was slinking out a back entrance infuriated her. She heard Ben make some kind of parting remark, but she had no idea what he said. The blood was pounding too ferociously in her ears as she ran across the terrace and onto the lawn.

  The backyard was swathed in the shadows of the descending night, but the path to the fence was illuminated. Still, she cursed under her breath when she reached the fence and discovered she was too short to activate the latch for the gate. Determined not to let the gate stop her, she jumped up and managed to twist the finial.

  Leaving the gate open for Ben, she made a beeline for the Seawalk, nearly tripping on the uneven ground. Her pace increased once she’d crossed the railroad tracks and leapt down the stone steps. She had no idea where the car was parked and she didn’t care. She just needed to move. To release the anger and her pent-up feelings into the cool air and the crashing of the waves against the rocks.