The Masked Man

Also, she would never know who’d been driving her car. And suddenly she had a whole lot she wanted to say to Trevor. Or his girlfriend. Or both.

She got out of the van in the cumbersome costume. The front door of the condo stood open, a faint light on inside. Whoever had gone in must have been in a big hurry.

It was dark inside the condo. She could hear what sounded like someone rummaging around in the bedroom. The only light spilled from the partially opened bedroom doorway. From this angle, Jill could see nothing but shadowed movement on one wall and the flicker of what had to be a flashlight beam.

Her heart caught in her throat. Why hadn’t the person in the bedroom turned on the lights? And why would Trevor be searching for something in his own bedroom in the dark?

The other Scarlett?

Jill moved through the dark living room following the path of light coming from the bedroom and caught the scent of the woman’s perfume. She realized she’d smelled it earlier—that moment when the other Scarlett had been framed in the lake cottage doorway. A heavy, cloying scent that made her sick to her stomach.

Trevor had never been much of a housekeeper, but this place looked as if it had been ransacked. As she tried to step around the mess on the floor, the hem of her dress caught on a pile of books dumped on the floor. One of the books tumbled off the top of the heap and thumped to the floor.

The sound of rummaging in the bedroom stopped. The flashlight beam blinked out.

In the blinding darkness, Jill felt on the wall for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. Had Trevor forgotten to pay his light bill or—

A figure came barreling out of the bedroom. Jill tried to get out of the way, hearing the movement rather than seeing the person in the dark. She felt an object strike her hard on the head. Her knees buckled.

As she dropped to the floor, she heard the retreating footfalls, then the sound of her car engine and the squeal of rubber tires on the wet pavement.

Dazed, she stumbled to her feet and moved to the open doorway. Her car was gone. So was the driver. She turned toward the bedroom and the scent of the woman’s perfume that still hung in the air.

What had the woman been looking for? And had she found it?

Jill felt her way in the dark to the bedroom door, remembering the candle she’d bought Trevor as a housewarming present. She stumbled through the mess on the floor to the nightstand beside his bed and felt around for the candle. The light from an outside yard lamp shone through the thin bedroom curtains. She could make out something large and looming on the bed.

She found the candle and matches. Striking a match, she touched it to the wick. The light flickered, illuminating the small room.

An open suitcase lay on the bed, piled high with Trevor’s clothing. The closet doors stood open, the hangers empty. The same with the dresser drawers.

Like the living room, the bedroom appeared to have been ransacked. Or Trevor had obviously packed in a hurry. His clothes in the suitcase were a jumble. It was obvious that the other Scarlet had been looking for something in the suitcase.

Holding the candle up for better illumination, Jill took a step toward the suitcase. Her shoe kicked a balled-up sheet of paper on the floor at her feet. She bent down and picked it up. Smoothing the paper, she held it to the candlelight. It was an eviction notice. Trevor was four months behind in his rent? How was that possible? Even if he’d put all his money into the island development, his parents were wealthy. She realized that if he hadn’t paid his rent, he probably hadn’t paid his electricity bill, either.

Head aching, she looked into the suitcase, still wondering what the woman had been searching for. Jill picked up one of Trevor’s shirts. An airline-ticket folder fell to the bed.

She lifted it carefully, afraid of what she was going to find. Inside was Trevor’s passport and a one-way ticket on a flight out of Kalispell tonight, final destination: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Brazil? Trevor hadn’t just been planning to run out on his rent and his electricity bill. He’d been running out on her, as well. When had he planned to tell her? At the party? And what about the other Scarlett?

Jill leafed through the folder until she found the receipt from the travel agent. Her hand began to tremble. Trevor had purchased two tickets on a credit card. One for himself. The other for his wife. The name on the other ticket was Rachel Forester.

The other Scarlett? Is that what she’d taken from the suitcase—her ticket?

Jill leaned against the bed frame, feeling dizzy and sick. Trevor had been planning to marry someone named Rachel tonight and run off with her to Brazil? It was unbelievable. She thought she couldn’t despise him more than she already did. She was wrong.

As she started to put the ticket back into the suitcase, she noticed the credit-card number on the receipt for the tickets. “Trevor, you really are a lousy bastard.” He’d used Jill’s credit card to buy the tickets for himself and his secret new bride.

Reeling, Jill stumbled out of the condo. Her head throbbed, and when she touched the bump on her forehead, her fingers came away sticky with blood.

All she wanted to do was go home and forget this day had ever happened. Forget Trevor. Too bad she couldn’t forget what had happened between them in the cottage—before the other Scarlett had shown up.

As she drove downtown to her apartment over the bakery she owned, she told herself this night couldn’t get any worse. But as she passed the bakery, she saw the sheriff’s deputy car parked across the street. Two deputies got out as she parked the van out front rather than continue on around to the back entrance to the upstairs apartment.

She stood paralyzed with worry on the sidewalk as they approached, afraid it had something to do with her father. Gary Lawson hadn’t been well enough to attend the party tonight. He’d said it was only the flu—

“Jill Lawson?” the taller of the deputies asked, the one whose name tag read James Samuelson. “Sorry to bother you so late. May we come in and have a word with you?”

She nodded dumbly and swallowed, her throat constricting, as she shakily unlocked the door to the bakery and let them in.

“We’re here about Trevor Forester,” the shorter, stouter of the two said. He introduced himself as Rex Duncan. He took out a small notebook and pen.

She stared at the deputy. “Is Trevor in some kind of trouble?” Understatement of the year.

She could feel Samuelson studying her face. Past him, she caught her reflection in the front window. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the bump on her forehead was now bruised and caked with blood around the small cut where she’d been hit.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Samuelson asked.

“Tonight. At the party.” She saw the deputies exchange a look.

“Tonight? What time was that?” Duncan asked.

“About eight-fifteen.”

“You’re sure you saw him?” Samuelson said.

“I was with him until about…nine-thirty, then I left. Has something happened?”

The deputies exchanged another look.

“Please tell me what this is about,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

“Ms. Lawson, you couldn’t have been with Trevor Forester tonight at the party,” Samuelson said. “Mr. Forester was murdered during the time you say you were with him at another location. I think you’d better tell us why you’d make up such a story.”

Chapter Two

As the woman stormed out of the lake cottage, Mackenzie Cooper pushed himself up from the floor on one elbow and groaned.

“Who the hell was that?” he asked the darkness, still stunned by what had happened between them.

Silently he cursed himself. When she’d come into the cottage while he was spying on the boat just off the shore, he’d kissed her, only planning to shut her up and keep her from giving him away. But one thing had led to another so quickly…

Damn. What had he been thinking? That was just it. He hadn’t been thinking.

He felt dazed as he checked his watch. Nine-forty. He’d completely lost track of the time. Completely lost track of everything. Especially his senses.

He quickly dressed, changing enough of the costume so that he wouldn’t be recognized as Rhett Butler. The last thing he wanted to do was run into either of the Scarlett O’Haras again tonight. In the mood they were in it could be dangerous. Another reason to hightail it out of here as fast as possible.

It was obvious the man he was supposed to meet here had stood him up. Which, all things considered, was just as well.

But first, Mac had to know what the woman had thrown at him. Using the penlight he’d brought with him, he shone it around on the floor.

Something in the corner glittered in the light and he bent to pick it up. A diamond ring. The stone was a nice size, the setting obviously old. He pocketed the ring and started to leave, but spotted something else on the floor in the beam of the penlight.

It appeared to be a scrap of black fabric. He picked up the skimpy, sexy panties. Silk. Her scent filled his nostrils, momentarily paralyzing him with total recall of the woman he’d had in his arms tonight.

Suddenly he wished he could have seen her in these. But his tactile memory flashed on an image of her that was now branded on his mouth, his hands, his body and his brain.

It seemed the woman had thought he was Trevor Forester—her fiancé. At least he had been her fiancé until the other Scarlett O’Hara had shown up.

He swore again, realizing the magnitude of what he’d done. He’d just made love to the last woman on earth he should have!

Not wanting to leave any evidence, he pocketed the panties along with the ring, then moved to the cottage door to make sure the coast was clear. It was time to get out of here. He’d gotten more than he’d come for. And then some.

TREVOR DEAD? Murdered? Jill staggered, her legs suddenly unable to hold her.

Deputy Rex Duncan pulled out a chair for her at one of the small round serving tables at the front of her bakery and helped her into it. He then drew up seats across from her for him and Samuelson, who pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket, set it on the table, and clicked it on.

“There must be some mistake,” she said, looking from one to the other of them.

“There is no mistake,” Samuelson said. “That’s why we’re confused. Why would you say you were with Trevor Forester tonight at the party? Unless for some reason you think you need an alibi.”

She stared at him, stunned. “An alibi? I was with Trevor in the lake cottage during the time I told you.” She looked from Samuelson to Duncan.

Duncan shook his head.

She felt the blood leave her head. If she hadn’t been in the cottage with Trevor… Oh, my God.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Duncan suggested as he handed her a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “You arrived at the party at what time?”

She took the napkin and wiped her eyes, panic making her hands shake. “About seven-thirty.”

“Alone?” Duncan asked.

She nodded. “I thought Trevor would meet me at the party since he was running so late.”

“Trevor Forester was your fiancé?” Deputy Samuelson asked.

She nodded, then glanced down at her ringless finger, the white mark on her lightly tanned skin where the diamond engagement ring had been. The deputies followed her gaze. She quickly covered her hand.

“I think you’d better tell us what happened tonight,” Samuelson said. “It’s obvious you’ve been crying. How did you get that bump on your head?”

She looked up at him, then at Deputy Duncan, and fought to swallow back the dam of tears that threatened to break loose. Trevor dead. Murdered. And the man in the cottage who’d been dressed like Rhett Butler…?

“The truth, Ms. Lawson. You weren’t with Trevor Forester tonight at the party. So where were you?” Samuelson asked impatiently.

“I thought I was with Trevor,” she cried, and saw them exchange another look. “I know this will sound crazy…”

“Believe me, we’ve heard it all,” Duncan said, not unkindly. “Just tell us what happened.”

She took a breath. “Trevor was supposed to pick me up for the party at six-thirty,” she began. “We were going as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara.” Jill told them how she’d gone alone to the Foresters at seven-thirty, waited for him in a room off the far wing until she’d seen the man she believed to be Trevor dressed as Rhett Butler duck into the lake cottage at eight-fifteen. She’d just looked at her watch—that was why she remembered the time. “It was just before the electricity went out.”

Duncan nodded. “A transformer blew on that side of the lake about then. The man you saw, he had on a mask?”

She nodded and realized she’d only gotten a glimpse as he’d gone into the cottage. Just an impression of Rhett Butler.

“So you went down to the cottage in a downpour to see him?” Samuelson asked. “Why not wait until the storm let up? Or he came up to the party?”

“I wanted to speak with Trevor alone first.”

Samuelson raised an eyebrow. “About what? I see you aren’t wearing your engagement ring.”

“The truth is, I had planned to break off our engagement,” she admitted, wondering if they’d already found her engagement ring in the cottage. She assumed they’d already talked with Heddy and Alistair. Had Heddy told the deputies how upset Jill had been? That she’d planned to break the engagement?

“Why break up?” Samuelson asked, eyeing her closely.

She shook her head, not knowing where to begin. “I had hardly seen Trevor lately, and I just felt that we shouldn’t be getting married.”

“You said had planned to break off your engagement. Did something change your mind?” Duncan asked.

“Actually, Trevor did—at first. Or at least the man I thought was Trevor.” She could see the deputies’ skepticism. She hurriedly told them how the electricity had gone out, how in the darkness the man she thought was Trevor had grabbed her, kissed her, seduced her—all without a word spoken between them.

She dropped her gaze to her hands, clasped in her lap, for a moment, the shame and humiliation almost getting the better of her as she thought of what she’d done with a stranger. She had opened herself up to him. At the time she’d thought it was the darkness that had let her put all her inhibitions aside and make love as she’d never made love before—completely.

When she looked up, she saw they didn’t believe a word she’d said. “It’s true! I can prove it. Someone saw us together. A woman.” She groaned silently, mortified to have to tell them.

“What woman?” Duncan asked.

Jill looked at him and realized she didn’t have a clue who the woman was. Reluctantly she explained how it seemed Trevor had planned to meet, not her, but the other Scarlett in the cottage. “The woman saw us, became angry and left.”

“I thought it was dark inside the cottage?” Samuelson said.

“It was, but there was a flash of lightning as she opened the door,” Jill said.

“You didn’t see the man in this flash of lightning?” he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, remembering how he’d spooned her against him, the gentle way he’d nuzzled the nape of her neck, his breath on her bare, hot skin… “I was facing the door and he was…behind me.”

“What did you do after this woman interrupted the two of you?” Duncan asked.

“I realized Trevor—” she heard her voice break “—I mean, the man I thought was Trevor…had just made love to the wrong woman. I hurriedly dressed, threw the engagement ring at him and left.”

“You never saw his face?” Duncan asked.

She shook her head.

“You must have been furious,” Samuelson said.

“I was hurt.” She dropped her gaze, remembering the depth of that hurt because of what they had just shared.

“Did you tell anyone about this?” Duncan asked.

“No. I left by the side yard. I was upset. I certainly didn’t want to talk about it.” She saw the way they were both looking at her and added, “I think the woman’s name might be Rachel, but you’ll have to catch her tonight before she gets on a plane for Brazil.”

Samuelson raised a brow. “Why would you think that?”

Jill told them about almost being run off the road by her own red Saturn and how she’d followed it, thinking at first that Trevor was driving the car, since he was the one who’d borrowed it the last time she saw him.

“The front door was open. Someone was in the bedroom, rummaging around, using a flashlight,” she continued. She told them how the person had come flying out, hit her and left in her car. “I caught a whiff of the same perfume I had smelled when the woman opened the door to the cottage.”

“So you think it was the same woman,” Duncan said.

“Was she still wearing her costume?” Samuelson asked.

Now that Jill thought about it… “No. She must have had a change of clothing with her.” Maybe her traveling wedding suit since, if she was Rachel, she and Trevor were headed for a justice of the peace and a plane, it seemed. “If you’ve been to his condo, you know that Trevor was running away tonight with a woman named Rachel.” Their poker faces told her nothing.

“We’ll try to find your car,” Duncan offered. “And this woman.” His tone implied, If she exists.

“Thank you.”

Samuelson was shaking his head. “Come on, Ms. Lawson, how could you have made love with a man and not realized he wasn’t your fiancé?”

Her face flamed with embarrassment. “Trevor and I had only been…intimate once.” She thought of the differences, not just in the lovemaking but in the man’s body. She’d believed it was because Trevor had been doing manual labor for the past few months. He was so much more muscular. Stronger. More…forceful. He’d lost some weight and was leaner—just like when she’d seen him recently. And he’d promised her that tonight would be different. Oh, and it had been, she thought, fiddling nervously with the silver charm bracelet at her wrist.

“Heddy Forester says when she saw you at about seven-forty-five, you were very upset with Trevor,” Samuelson said. “She says she thought you left right after that. You have keys to the Foresters’ boats, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“In a ski boat, it takes how long—ten, fifteen minutes?—to get down the lake to the island,” he asked.

She stared at him. “Trevor was killed on the island?” What was he saying? That she would have had plenty of time to get to the island, kill Trevor and return to the party—and the cottage. “I told you—”

“Yes, you told us,” Samuelson interrupted. “You were in the cottage. Then how do you explain the fact that Heddy Forester saw you get out of a boat at the dock just a little before nine-thirty?”

“It wasn’t me. It must have been the woman I told you about, the one who was also dressed as Scarlett O’Hara.”

It was clear Samuelson didn’t believe her.

“Was there anything about her you can remember other than the costume?” Duncan asked.

“All I saw was her silhouette in the doorway. But I think I’d recognize her voice if I heard it again.” A strident, high-pitched voice.

Duncan shifted in his chair. “When was the last time you were on Inspiration Island?”

“I’ve never been on the island. Trevor didn’t want me seeing it until everything was finished. He said he didn’t allow anyone but crews on the island during construction, not even investors, if he could help it.” She realized how stupid she’d been. Trevor had probably used the island as a place to spend time with the other Scarlett. Not that Jill cared to go out there, given the island’s history. Maybe that was why she’d never pushed the subject.

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Trevor Forester?” Duncan asked.

She shook her head. “I would have said Trevor had no enemies. But I realized tonight that I didn’t know Trevor at all.”

“I think that will be enough for now.” Duncan turned off the tape recorder. Both deputies pushed to their feet. “We’ll check out your story, Ms. Lawson. You might want to have someone take a look at that cut on your forehead.”

“It’s fine.” She told herself there was no reason to worry about anything. The man she was with in the cottage would come forward once he heard about the murder. Also the other Scarlett. Once the deputies found her car…

“When you search the cottage, you’ll find my engagement ring I threw at the man as I was leaving.” She cringed as she remembered what else she’d left behind. “You’ll also find some black silk…underthings of mine that I didn’t take the time to collect.” She was mortified that her risqué panties and bra would now be…evidence in a murder investigation. Her face burned. “All of which prove I’m telling the truth.”

Duncan looked sympathetic, but doubtful. “They prove you were in the cottage. Not that you were with anyone. We’ll get back to you. Please don’t leave town.”

“I have no intention of going anywhere,” she snapped. “I have a bakery to run. I also have no reason to leave. I want to know who killed Trevor as much as you do. More so, since you seem to think I’m a suspect.”

“If you think of anything else, please give me a call.” Deputy Duncan handed her his card.

She watched them both leave, feeling heartsick. The events of the night seemed surreal, a bad dream. Trevor murdered? Herself a suspect? A chill skittered over her skin. Was it possible that she’d found the passion she’d always longed for—in the arms of a total stranger?

MACKENZIE COOPER left the Foresters’ and walked down the road in the pouring rain to his pickup. He’d had to park a half mile back up the lane because of all the cars. Those cars were gone now, and when he turned to look back, he saw something that sent his heart pounding. The sheriff’s car was parked near the rear entrance of the house.

Getting into his Chevy truck, the camper on the back, he drove north down the narrow, winding lake road toward Bandit’s Bay Marina, where he kept his houseboat. What had happened to cause the sheriff to go up to the house? He had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

At the Beach Bar at the end of the pier at the marina, he ordered a beer. “What’s all the excitement?” he asked the bartender.

“Trevor Forester was murdered tonight,” the bartender said.

Mac felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Trevor was dead and Mac had just slept with his fiancée. Talk about bad karma.

He drank his beer, hardly tasting it, and listened to some of the locals talking about how Forester’s boat was found floating about a half mile off Inspiration Island. A fisherman found Trevor lying in a pool of blood in the bottom of the boat. He’d been shot twice in the heart.

Murder was rare enough in this part of Montana. The last one was back in 1997 when some guy was killed on Hawk Island. What made this murder more tantalizing was that the victim was a local and that he was developing Inspiration Island, an island the men at the bar said should have been left alone. They hinted that the island was haunted, which was a good reason not to develop it.

Mac didn’t buy into any of that mumbo jumbo. What interested him was that the locals hadn’t liked Trevor. Partially because of the resentment they harbored for him and the Forester family money. Partially because Trevor was a jackass who also hadn’t been paying his bills of late.

Mac sipped his beer, unable to shake the anxiety he’d felt the moment he’d seen the sheriff’s car at the Foresters’ lake house. It was just a matter of time before the sheriff found out about Trevor’s call to Mac.

“I think someone’s trying to kill me,” Trevor had said on the phone yesterday, sounding scared. “I heard you’re a private investigator. I need you to find out who it is before it’s too late.”

It had been Trevor’s plan for them to meet at the party to discuss the job. Trevor had sent Mac a costume: Rhett Butler. They were to meet at the lake cottage at eight-fifteen tonight. Trevor would be arriving by boat.