Copper Beach

24

ABBY AWOKE WITH A START, AWARE THAT SHE WAS ALONE IN the bed. Funny how fast you could become accustomed to sleeping with someone, she thought. She had slept alone all her life and had concluded that she liked it that way. Two nights with Sam had changed a lot of things.

A cold, wet nose pushed against her hand. She opened her eyes and found herself face–to–face with Newton. He was standing beside the bed, gazing at her with a fixed expression.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake. I thought I told you to forget that psychic-command thing.”

She pushed back the covers, sat up and rubbed Newton briskly. He chuffed a little, licked her hand and then, evidently satisfied that he had performed his duty, turned and trotted out the open door. She could tell that he was headed downstairs to the kitchen. The sounds and smells of breakfast wafted up from the floor below.

Sleeping with Sam definitely had a few perks, she thought. He was fixing breakfast for the second morning in a row. She could not recall the last time anyone had prepared breakfast for her. Tomorrow morning she would have to return the favor.

The summer dawn had arrived with rain, all in all, looking more like a midwinter dawn. Through the window she could see the steel-colored waters of the sea, but the neighboring islets and islands were lost in the mist.

She took a teal-colored cowl-neck pullover and a pair of gray trousers out of her suitcase and headed for the adjoining bathroom. She had not packed for an extended stay. On the next trip into Seattle, she would have to stop by her condo to check her mail and pick up some more clothes and necessities.

She grabbed her phone and checked her email. There was a new note from Nordstrom, announcing the advent of a summer sale, and a nice message from her very good friends at Zappos, telling her that new styles were available from one of her favorite brands of shoes. There were no new emails about the missing lab book or the upcoming auction.

Phone in hand, she went out into the hall. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a hint of cinnamon warmed the atmosphere. When she arrived in the kitchen, she found Sam at the stove, spatula in hand. His hair was still damp from the shower. The very interesting dark shadow of a beard that she had noticed in the wee small hours of the night was gone. He was dressed in dark pants and a black pullover.

Newton was sitting on the floor, ears perked, watching Sam’s every move. He spared a moment to greet Abby again, and then returned to supervising the breakfast preparations.

Sam looked at Abby, eyes heating a little. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she said. “Did Newton get breakfast?”

She felt awkward, not exactly shy but not really comfortable with the intimacy of their relationship. This was unfamiliar territory, she reflected, more easily navigated at night than in the daylight. But if Sam had any problems with the rapidly evolving status of their relationship, he gave no indication of it. He was acting as if everything from the psi-infused sex to eating breakfast together was all quite normal.

“I fed Newton some of that fancy kibble you brought along,” Sam said. “I think that he would rather have a slice of the French toast that we’re going to eat.”

“I told you, he’s a very smart dog. And it’s okay if he has a slice of French toast. Is the coffee ready yet?”

“Help yourself. Mugs are in there.” Sam angled his head to indicate the cupboard.

“Thanks.”

She opened the door of the cupboard and took down a mug. “Can I pour you another cup?”

“Yes, thanks.” He scrutinized her closely. “Any more dreams?”

“None that involved Grady Hastings, thank goodness.” She picked up the pot. “You?”

“None that involved Cassidy. I told you, we just need to perfect the experiment.”

“Mmm.” She poured the coffee, trying to think of what to say next.

“You’re not real good with the morning-after conversation, are you?” Sam said. “Yesterday I made allowances because your brother arrived.”

“Stepbrother,” she corrected automatically.

“But this morning we’ve got time to talk.”

She sipped some coffee. “I thought men didn’t like the morning-after conversation.”

He flashed her a wickedly sexy grin. “Depends on what actually happened the night before.”

She flushed. “In our case, there always seems to be a lot going on the night before. There was me almost setting fire to a red-hot book in my bedroom. A midnight intruder. Bad dreams. A vault full of weird paranormal rocks with unknown powers. To say nothing of the stress of some of our precoital activities, such as finding a body and escaping a carjacking and kidnapping.”

“Our relationship sure as hell hasn’t proceeded along a normal path. I’ll give you that.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Maybe that’s why I’m not sure how to have a morning-after conversation with you. Or maybe I simply haven’t had a lot of experience in that department. I’ve had a few relationships, including one or two that I thought might have the potential to go the distance. But they’ve never lasted long, and I somehow know that going in, so I try not to get overly committed. For some reason, not spending the entire night with someone has always been my way of drawing the line.”

“As long as you don’t have to face him at breakfast, you can tell yourself it was just a date, not a relationship, is that it?” Sam asked.

“Something like that, yes. According to the counselors at the Summerlight Academy, I have serious trust issues. My father the shrink says I have commitment issues. The combination makes for a one-two punch when it comes to relationships.”

Sam shoveled large stacks of French toast onto two plates. “Well, the counselors and your father sure got the diagnosis wrong, didn’t they?”

She sputtered on a sip of coffee. “What?”

He put the frying pan down on the stone counter. “You don’t have trust issues. You’re just real careful about whom you trust. And you don’t have commitment issues. You’ve made plenty of commitments, and you’ve stuck to them.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Years ago, you formed solid friendships with Gwen Frazier and Nick Sawyer. You’ve maintained those friendships for years. You trust both Gwen and Nick. You made friends with Thaddeus Webber, a reclusive, highly eccentric old man who trusted almost no one. But he entrusted you with his secrets, and you kept those secrets. You dutifully appear in book cover photographs to help your father uphold the image of the modern family by choice, even though it wasn’t your family of choice. And last but by no means least, you are one hundred percent committed to your dog.”

She looked at Newton. “One hundred and ten percent.”

“See?” Sam set one slice of toast aside to cool. “You can and do make commitments. Ergo, the shrinks at the Summerlight Academy and your father have never fully comprehended you or your issues. But you already know that.”

She blinked. “Ergo?”

“It’s a technical term.” Sam carried the plates to the table. “Thus ends the lecture for this morning. Let’s eat.”

She went to the table, sat down and studied the French toast. Each slice was thick and puffy and golden brown.

“This is the most beautiful French toast I have ever seen,” she said.

“You are obviously hungry.”

“Yes, I am. Starving, actually.”

One thing about her association with Sam, she thought. She was getting plenty of exercise and burning a lot of calories.

She spread a large pat of butter on the French toast and poured some of the syrup over the top. Working carefully, she forked up a slice of the toast. She munched and swallowed. And immediately went back for another bite. And another.

They ate in a surprisingly companionable silence for a while, no conversation required.

Eventually, Abby put down her fork and picked up her coffee mug. “What about you?” she asked.

Sam paused the fork halfway to his mouth and gave her a look of polite inquiry. “Me?”

“You obviously know how to make commitments. You’re certainly committed to keeping the secret of the Phoenix stones.”

“So?” He ate the bite of French toast.

“What happened with Cassidy? You said yourself that the two of you were very involved, to the point where many people assumed that you were either engaged or about to be engaged.”

Sam lounged back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table. “The answer is that I did consider marriage for a time. Everything about the relationship with Cassidy seemed perfect, maybe a little too perfect. But something was missing. I kept waiting for the click, you know?”

“The click?”

“The sense that this is the one. I never got it with Cassidy. All I can tell you is that while I was away on that last job with the private contractor, I came to the conclusion that it was time to end things with her.”

“Instead, you came home to find her body in the lab.” Sudden comprehension flashed through Abby. “That’s when you made your real commitment to her. You committed yourself to finding her killer.”

“She wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t been dating me,” Sam said. “It was our relationship that put her in harm’s way. I’ve known that since the night she was murdered.”

“But if she seduced you and set you up for the theft of the stones…”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the one who asked her out on that first date at the gem-and-mineral show. I’m the one who introduced her to Frye. And I’m the one who continued to date her, even after she was hired.”

“I understand.”

Sam watched her for a long moment.

“Yes,” he said. “I can see that you do. You’re the only one who does. I’ll get some more coffee.”

He went to the counter and picked up the pot. He used his free hand to toss a slice of cooled French toast in Newton’s general direction. Newton made an agile leap and snatched the toast out of midair.

Abby’s phone chimed. She picked it up and glanced at the unfamiliar number.

“I can’t imagine who this could be,” she said.

She stabbed the connect key.

“Yes?” she said.

“Abigail? Is that you?”

Orinda Strickland spoke in the same clipped, cold, supercilious manner that had frightened the thirteen-year-old Abby. Orinda was no less daunting now that she was in her eighties, but there was a faint rasp that betrayed her age and something else. It took Abby a few seconds to find the right word. Panic. It was Orinda who was terrified today, and trying desperately to conceal it.

Abby took a deep breath and silently repeated her mantra. Show no weakness.

“Mrs. Strickland. What a surprise. I didn’t know you had this number.”

“I got it from Dawson.”

“I see. Did someone die?”

“That is not amusing.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. I just can’t imagine any other reason why you would want to get in touch with me.”

“Nonsense,” Orinda snapped. “You’re family. Why wouldn’t I want to keep in touch?”

“I knew it.” Abigail slumped against the back of her chair and contemplated the woods outside the window. Newton came to sit beside her. She put a hand on his head. “This is about Dawson and that investor he’s trying to land.”

“Dawson told me that he talked to you about finding some old book that he needs to close the deal. He said you refused to help him.”

“It’s not that simple, Mrs. Strickland.”

“Dawson said you won’t get the book for him because you still have issues about the past.”

“Well, sure, who doesn’t? But I repeat, it’s not that simple.”

“Abigail, you were a very troubled girl. We did what we felt was best for you and the family. You’re an adult now. I would have hoped that by this time you would have realized that we had no choice but to send you to that special school. You needed treatment.”

“Uh–huh.”

“Do you have any idea of how much it cost to send you to the Summer Hill Academy?”

“Summerlight.”

“What?” Orinda asked.

“The name of the school was the Summerlight Academy.”

“Well, you can’t expect me to remember the name of the school after all these years.”

“Gee, that’s funny,” Abby said. “I’ve never been able to forget it. And no, in answer to your question, I don’t know how much it cost you to dump me there.”

“We spent thousands on tuition, room and board and counseling. You should be grateful for all that we did for you.”

“Oh, I am,” Abby said politely. “Very grateful.”

She was aware of Sam watching her. He lounged against the counter, sipping coffee and listening to every word. Newton rested his head on her leg, offering silent comfort.

“The least you can do for the family is find that book for Dawson,” Orinda said. “He tells me it is absolutely critical to closing the deal with the investor.”

“Yes, he mentioned that. But you’re going to have to trust me when I tell you that the book is dangerous.”

“Nonsense. It’s just a book, not even a very old one at that. We’re not talking a medieval manuscript here. Evidently, the investor is obsessed with finding this particular book, however, and has made it clear that it is the price of doing business.”

“A lot of people are searching for that same book, and at least one person has already been murdered because of it,” Abby said.

“I don’t believe that for a second. No one commits murder because of a forty-year-old book. You’re making up stories, just like you did when you were a girl. This is about the money, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Of course it is,” Orinda said. “You have always resented Dawson’s inheritance and the trust funds I established for the twins, even though I have explained that you have no right to that money because you have no biological connection to the Strickland line.”

“I remember that talk. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I’m not interested in the Strickland money.”

“It’s always about the money,” Orinda shot back. Anger and conviction rang in her voice. “I would think that after all we’ve done for you, you would be willing to do this one small favor in return. If your sense of family obligation is so lacking, however, you have my word that you will be compensated for your efforts.”

Maybe it was the rare show of emotion or simply the rising panic in Orinda’s voice. Whatever the source, it triggered Abby’s intuition. She straightened in the chair and braced her elbows on the table.

“This is as close to groveling as I have ever known you to come, Mrs. Strickland.”

“I’m not groveling, you ungrateful woman. I’m trying to make you understand that you have a responsibility to help your brother in this crisis.”

“Stepbrother,” Abby said automatically. “No bloodline connection, remember?”

“That is beside the point. We are a family. Dawson says he could be looking at prison.”

“Look, I understand that he’s facing bankruptcy, but unless he was the one who was running the Ponzi scheme, I doubt that the Feds will charge him with a crime.”

“Don’t you understand?” Orinda said. “Whoever lured Dawson into that scheme made sure that when it fell apart, Dawson would take the fall.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Sounds like this all comes down to money. If Dawson is forced to pay off some clients, he can borrow the money from the Strickland trust. Surely he can get a loan from you.”

There was a short, jarring silence.

“That is not an option,” Orinda said in a flat voice. “The trust is almost entirely depleted.”

“What?”

“I had Dawson invest almost the full amount into that damned Ponzi scheme.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. I’m no expert on financial management, but didn’t anyone ever give you the talk on diversification of assets? And what about the if–it–­looks-too-good–to–be–true–it–probably–is–­too-good–to–be–true speech?”

“Don’t you dare lecture me, Abigail.” Orinda’s voice was electrified with anger and tension. “What’s done is done. It’s not Dawson’s fault that the money is gone. Dawson was the victim of a scam. But as a result, the entire family is facing financial ruin. You have got to find that book, Abigail. It’s the least you can do after all the trouble you caused us.”

The phone went dead in Abby’s hand. She looked at Sam.

“In case you didn’t figure it out, that was Dawson’s grandmother, Orinda Strickland.”

“The one who made sure you knew that you were not going to inherit a dime of her money?” Sam asked.

“Yep. Evidently, there is no longer a dime left to be inherited. It seems that she put virtually all of the Strickland money into the Ponzi scheme.”

Sam whistled softly and shook his head. He did not say anything.

“I expect the next call will be from Dawson’s mother.”

“Your stepmother.”

“Yes.” Abby drummed her fingers on the table. “Although I suppose it’s possible they’ll get Dad to contact me. It’s not like he was going to inherit anything, because he did sign that prenup, but as long as the marriage lasts, he gets to enjoy the many benefits of the Strickland money. If he knows the faucet has been turned off and that the twins’ inheritance is at stake, he’ll pay attention.”

“You think he’ll be worried about your half sisters’ trust fund?”

“Jessica and Laura are Dad’s do–over kids,” Abby explained. “Part of the image of the modern family of choice. They’re attending a very expensive private college. He won’t want to see their tuition cut off.”

“This situation,” Sam said, “is getting complicated for you.”

“Yes, it certainly is.” She rose. “I’m going to take a walk. I need some fresh air to clear my head.”

Newton sprang to his feet at the word walk.

“I’ll come with you,” Sam said.

Abby turned in the doorway. “I thought you said I’d be safe here on the island.”

“You’re safe.” Sam put his empty mug on the counter. “I just want to go with you. Do you mind?”

“Suit yourself.”

“So gracious,” he said, not quite under his breath. “And after all I’ve done for you.”

For the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to see red. She was so outraged, she could scarcely speak.

“Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me,” she fumed. “I’ve just spent the past few minutes talking to a world-class expert.”

Sam grinned. “Couldn’t resist.”

She tried to stay mad, but she just did not have the energy for it. She burst into laughter instead.

“Your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired,” she said.

The misty rain had cleared. The day was starting to warm slowly, but the air was still cool and damp. Abby bundled up in a jacket. Sam put on a windbreaker. Once outside, Newton dashed about madly, bobbing in and out of the trees, glorying in his newfound off-leash freedom.

“I think he hears the call of the wild,” Abby said.

“For a condo dog, he certainly has adapted to the country life in a hurry.”

Abby looked at the three other houses just barely visible through the woods. “So this is the Coppersmith family compound.”

“One of them. There’s another one down in Sedona.”

Abby gestured toward the houses. “Who lives in those places?”

“My folks built that one for themselves.” He pointed to a modern-looking house that overlooked the water. “My mother never did like the old house. Judson and Emma use the other two when they’re on the island. We’re a close family, but we like our privacy. Also, my parents have long-range visions of a large, extended family with plenty of grandkids.”

“But none of you have married.”

“Not yet. Mom is starting to push. I think that’s why she and Dad got so excited about my relationship with Cassidy. They were so sure she was the one. They’re convinced that I’m pining away here on the island, nursing a broken heart.”

“I know you aren’t brokenhearted, but do you think it’s possible that when you were unable to solve the murder you may have become somewhat obsessed with your sense of failure?” Abby asked gently.

“Sure.” Sam smiled, a slow, cold smile. “But everything has changed now. I’m on the trail, thanks to you.”

They walked across the clearing and came to a halt at the top of the rocky bluff above the cove.

“Why did your mother name this cove Copper Beach?” Abby asked.

Sam’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “One of these days you’ll see for yourself.”

Not far offshore, a pod of orcas sliced through the waters. The massive black-and-white creatures rose out of the waves in graceful, acrobatic leaps, only to disappear back into the depths.

“That’s one of the resident pods,” Sam said. “The researchers have them all identified, named and logged. No two orcas have exactly the same markings. Each pod even has its own dialect of the whale language.”

“They’re stunning when you see them up close like this,” Abby said. “They look like they’re dancing.”

“They’re hunting. Takes a lot of food to keep an eight-ton animal going. Looks like they’ve found a school of salmon. They’ll work it as a team, driving the fish up against one of the underwater cliffs here on Legacy. Once the salmon are trapped, the orcas will pull out the knives and forks, otherwise known as very large teeth.”

“Nature in the raw. Literally. I prefer my salmon cooked.”

“Got news for you, the local fishermen often use the same technique to catch the salmon you eat. Hunting tactics don’t vary all that much from one species to another.” Sam’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket and checked the screen. Then he took the call. “Sorry, Dad. Nothing much to report. I told you I’d call as soon as I had something for you.”

There was a short pause.

“That’s not necessary, Dad,” Sam said evenly. “You and Mom already have plans to come up here next week for the tech summit. No need to arrive early.”

Another pause.

“I see,” Sam said. He sounded resigned. He ended the call and looked at Abby. “That was my father.”

“Bad news?” she asked, concerned.

“Depends on your point of view. He and Mom are on their way here to the island. They’re due to arrive this afternoon.”