Charmed

“How far is it?” she asked in a strained voice.

“Within walking distance of the wharf,” he assured her. “But not on a night like this. The Langdon house sits on the highest point at the southwestern tip of the island. There’s a great view when the weather’s clear, but its location makes it vulnerable to wind, rain and fierce winters.”

Ashley sat rigidly in the seat, staring straight ahead. Lorrie…Lorrie.

“Tell me, what exactly was your sister doing for the Langdons?” he asked, which surprised her. Surely he’d been informed of her assignment at the house. She had the feeling he was just trying to keep her mind occupied.

Briefly, she explained the Langdon family’s decision to auction some of the vintage clothing that had been collected since the turn of the century.

“A lot of money involved?” he prodded in a slightly skeptical tone.

“A handmade gown by a noted designer can bring as much as a hundred thousand dollars.”

He let out a slow whistle.

“Private collectors, dealers and museums are always on the lookout for the kind of vintage clothing that the Langdons have decided to put on the market. Prices have shot up eighty percent in the last five years. There’s a charm about antique clothing and jewelry. Lorrie was excited that she was the one chosen to catalog everything.” Ashley’s voice broke as she remembered how happy her sister had been when the assignment had been confirmed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, I promise.”

They both fell silent.

A few minutes later, he swung the car in a half circle and parked at the side of a sprawling, three-story structure that seemed to be balanced precariously on high ground facing the rocky Atlantic shoreline below. All the windows were dark except for a couple on the main floor. The roar of the crashing surf was like a greedy monster lashing at the land with a crazed fury.

“This is known as the Langdon compound,” he explained as he hurriedly guided her along a walk to the front of a white mansion. “There are several outbuildings and a private dock below the mansion.”

She straightened her shoulders and brushed damp bangs back from her forehead as they mounted wide steps to a pair of carved doors. She had never felt more unkempt and had never cared less!

“Be careful,” he said as he rang the doorbell.

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Watch yourself. There’s a pattern of violence in the Langdon family.” His tone was hard as the granite rocks strewn along the beach. “Tragedy seems to follow anyone who unwittingly gets snared in their web.”

Chapter Two

The front door was opened by a tall, angular woman with gray hair pulled back in a tight knot. She wore a shapeless dark dress that accented her beanpole figure. As she admitted them into the entrance hall, her sharp glance went to their wet shoes; she looked as if she might order them to take the sodden footwear off before allowing them any farther into the house.

“Evening, Mrs. Mertz,” Brad said, nodding. He’d met the widowed housekeeper earlier when interviewing the family after Lorrie’s disappearance. The austere woman had answered his questions curtly, maintaining she hadn’t even been aware of Lorrie Davis leaving the house. Edith Mertz’s attitude had given him the impression that she hadn’t thought the comings and goings of the young woman were worthy of her attention.

“Will you inform the family that Ashley Davis, sister of the missing woman, has just arrived from California.” Brad’s tone made it sound more like an order than request.

“They’re in the family sitting room,” she replied curtly. “Understandably upset. I certainly hope you will clear this up quickly, Officer. The entire household has been distressed by this unfortunate event.” Her tone clearly indicated she thought the island’s poor police protection was to blame. “Follow me, Miss Davis.”

As she turned away, Ashley shot him a questioning look. Despite all her bravado, he could tell she was looking for his support.

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes, please.”

He had decided to leave her suitcase in the car until they knew what kind of reception she was going to get. Clearly accepting guests in their home, unless they were personally invited, was not the norm for a prestigious family like the Langdons; they might expect Ashley Davis to find accommodations elsewhere. Unfortunately, seaside cottages were already closed for the season and only a couple of questionable boarding houses took in transient year-round visitors.

He boldly put a guiding hand on her arm as they followed the housekeeper across a wide foyer. They went past a curved staircase mounted against one wall and then down a hall paneled in dark walnut.

They had passed several closed doors when they met a man, wearing a raincoat and carrying a medical bag, coming toward them.

Brad nodded in recognition of the island’s doctor. “Evening, Dr. Hadley.”

He was a tall, nice-looking man in his late forties, with graying dark hair and a well-toned body that matched his alert expression. The doctor was Clayton Langdon’s private physician, and he handled only routine medical cases that arose on the island. All others he sent to the mainland either by boat or arranged a helicopter pickup at the school playing field. A makeshift ambulance van was kept in the garage of the doctor’s home office.

“How is he, Doctor?” Mrs. Mertz demanded in her usual curt manner. “We hated calling you out on a night like this but—”

“No problem,” Dr. Hadley quickly assured her. “Clayton is less agitated now, and I left something for a good night’s sleep when he’s ready to retire.” He nodded at Brad. “Evening, Officer. Any new developments?”

“’Fraid not.”

The doctor glanced at Ashley. “My goodness, young lady, you look chilled to the bone. You’d better get into some dry clothes and have something hot to drink. We don’t need another patient in the house.”

“No, we certainly don’t,” Edith Mertz echoed with pursed lips as if Ashley were bringing some kind of sickness into the house.

“From the sound of that wind, we’re in for a night of it.” He gave them a brisk nod and continued down the hall toward the front door.

Mrs. Mertz led them deeper into the house and then turned into a brightly lit sitting room warmed by blazing logs in a large fireplace.

Three people sat in chairs near the fire. Brad kept his hand on Ashley’s arm as they moved toward them. An elderly Clayton Langdon squinted at them, and his fifty-year-old son, Jonathan, frowned at the intrusion. A slightly built woman, somewhat younger than the men, rose to her feet with the habitual response of a hostess to unexpected guests.

She was Ellen Brenden, the sister of Jonathan’s late wife, Samantha, who had been killed in that automobile accident on the mainland nearly twenty-five years ago. Now in her forties, Ellen had become a fixture in the Langdon’s household.

Brad liked her. Ellen was a spry and energetic woman with dishwater brown hair cut short around a full face. She wore a colorful, trendy outfit designed for a younger woman. Living with the Langdon family afforded her a comfortable lifestyle, but Brad thought that meeting the demands of the two Langdon men couldn’t be an easy row to hoe.

“This is Ashley Davis, the dead girl’s sister,” Mrs. Mertz announced in her abrasive manner.

“Missing sister,” Brad loudly corrected her.

“Oh, yes, of course…missing,” Ellen Brenden stammered as if trying to rectify the housekeeper’s embarrassing error.

Brad guided Ashley across the room to where Clayton Langdon and Jonathan were sitting. “Miss Davis flew in from California this evening in response to her sister’s disappearance,” he told them briskly.

Jonathan had quickly risen to his feet. He was a man of medium height and weight, slightly round-shouldered, with a furrowed brow which seemed to reflect heavy responsibilities. As acting head of the family, he looked older than fifty.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Davis.” He offered his hand. “I regret the unhappy circumstances,” he added in an apologetic tone.

“Damned confounding! That’s what it is,” bellowed the seventy-nine-year-old Clayton. As he fastened wrinkle-lidded eyes on Ashley, he clamped his sagging mouth shut and lapsed into a belligerent silence.

“Is there anything new?” Jonathan quickly asked Brad, ignoring his father’s outburst.

“Not yet.”

“This must be very trying for you, Miss Davis,” Jonathan said sympathetically.

“How could such a thing like this happen?” Ashley demanded, worry and bewilderment in her voice.

“Very unfortunate,” Jonathan agreed in a people-management tone.

“Just awful,” Ellen echoed. “She was…is…a very pleasant and agreeable young woman. All of this is too frightful to believe. What could have—”

“Where is your home, Miss Davis?” Jonathan asked, deliberately interrupting.

“San Francisco. I came as soon as I received the news of her disappearance. It took all day because I had to change planes and make three connections.”

Clayton grunted as he leaned forward in his chair. The old man’s heavy-lidded eyes reflected a far-off look, but his voice was surprisingly firm. “Traveling is always exhausting under the best conditions, young lady. Even in a private plane you have to contend with all the time changes.”

An exasperated look crossed Ashley’s tired face. Brad knew her nerves were already threadbare. Trying to cope with mounting anxiety was taking its toll. He quickly intervened.

“Dr. Hadley wanted Miss Davis to have something warm to drink and perhaps a robe around her shoulders.”

“Oh yes, a cup of hot tea,” Ellen responded quickly. “It’s a late hour for coffee, isn’t it? Please sit here, Miss Davis.” She motioned to a nearby chair and as Ashley wearily dropped down into it, Ellen handed her a knitted afghan.

“Thank you,” Ashley said as she spread it over her damp lap and legs.

“I made it myself. Pretty isn’t it?”

As if enjoying the unexpected company, Ellen happily gave her attention to a silver teapot and china cups that were already sitting on a nearby small table.

“I was enjoying a cup of peppermint tea myself,” she bubbled. “Cream? Sugar? Lemon?”

Ashley just nodded as if making a choice was too demanding. Brad took the cup of tea from Ellen and carefully placed it in Ashley’s trembling hands.

“I expect you would probably prefer a highball, Officer Taylor,” Jonathan spoke up as if he’d already anticipated Brad’s answer.

“I never drink on the job,” Brad answered evenly. He’d learned earlier in life that it was better not to socialize with any of the island’s wealthy inhabitants.

Even as a teenager growing up on Greystone, he’d viewed the Langdons’ social whirl from afar. Since he’d been back, his contact with the parade of wealthy visitors who rented cottages at the southwest tip of the island had been purely in the line of duty. Only the disappearance of a woman in the Langdon household had gained him entry into this pseudopolite rich society.

After taking a few sips of tea, Ashley said firmly, “Now, I would appreciate hearing from all of you anything you can tell me about my sister’s disappearance.”

“I’m sure Officer Taylor has filled you in,” Jonathan responded smoothly. “We know little more than what we told him.”

“And what was that?” she asked pointedly.

Jonathan looked at Brad as if he expected him to speak up, but Brad deliberately kept silent. Sometimes people tripped themselves up when they tried to repeat the same story in the same way.

Jonathan cleared his voice. “We have arrangements with one of the local housewives to bring fresh produce and seafood to the house every day. She found a woman’s belongings on a cliff not far from here. She brought them to the house, and our housemaid, Clara, recognized them as belonging to your sister. The circumstances seemed dire and we quickly reported her absence.”

“It’s just too awful,” Ellen sighed.

In the weighted silence, Clayton Langdon cleared his throat. Then he barked, “Prepare a room for Miss Ashley. She will be our guest.”

Mrs. Mertz shot Jonathan a questioning look. At his nod, she turned on her ugly shoes and left the room like a soldier with marching orders.

Brad made a mental note to interrogate Mrs. Mertz again. In her position, the housekeeper was bound to know a hell of a lot more about what went on in the house than she had admitted.

“I’ll bring in your suitcase and check back with you in the morning,” he told Ashley as he prepared to leave.

She cleared her voice and took a deep breath. “You need to ask for help,” she said bluntly as her trembling hands held the fragile tea cup. “Surely the Portland police should take some responsibility. They could send someone.”

“Like a rookie cop?” he suggested curtly. It rankled him that she had clearly classified him as a local yokel who couldn’t find his own dog tied to a post. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

THE BEDROOM the housekeeper had prepared for Ashley was on the ocean side of the house. The sound of the surf assaulting the rocky cliffs could be heard above wailing gusts of wind. By the time Ashley had followed Mrs. Mertz through a complex of halls and curved staircases leading to the second floor, she was totally disoriented. The rambling mansion seemed to be a weird maze of rooms and additions to the main structure throughout the years. The housekeeper stopped at the far end of a long hall and opened a bedroom door.

“We’ve already closed up this side of the house for the winter,” Mrs. Mertz informed Ashley without any hint of an apology for the cold and musty smell inside the room.

A large bed with a massive wooden frame stood against one wall, and an old-fashioned chiffonnier matched a free-standing wardrobe and vanity. Even though the furniture was rather massive, there was an air of youth about the faded decor on the walls and the feminine furnishings.

In addition to the overhead light, there was a bedside lamp. Ashley’s small suitcase sat in the middle of a faded, fringed rug; she assumed that a servant must have brought it up earlier.

“Would you like me to turn down the bed?” Mrs. Mertz asked with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Yes, please, and bring a hot water bottle to warm the covers, Ashley retorted silently. She wished she had the courage to play the spoiled socialite guest and order a housekeeper around.

“I put out an extra comforter and turned on the heater in the bathroom. Is there anything else?”

“Where does that door lead?” Ashley asked, pointing to a door flanked by two tall windows on the ocean side of the room.

“The widow’s walk. It’s a long narrow balcony that runs the length of the original section of the house. Amelia Langdon, the first mistress of the house, is reported to have paced it night and day, hoping for some sign of her husband’s clipper ship coming back from trade in the Indies. This was the master bedroom then.”

“I see.”

The housekeeper’s thin lips curved in a faint smile. “Amelia’s lonely watch never brought him back that last time. His ship was wrecked at sea. Some say she’s still waiting and watching. Sometimes on moonless, stormy nights, the poor lady’s ghostly form has been seen walking right outside that door.”

“Really? How exciting. All these old mansions have their own delightful ghost stories, don’t they?” Not for all the world would Ashley let the housekeeper spook her. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Mertz. I appreciate it.”

“Good night, then,” she replied in a tone as crisp as burnt toast.

Ashley closed the door after her and then leaned against it, struggling to control her emotions. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. Never had she felt so close to being totally out of control. Slightly panicked, she drew in long, shaky breaths to steady herself. It wouldn’t do herself or her sister any good if she fell apart.

She bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and went into the small adjoining bathroom. It had obviously been renovated; the fixtures were modern, and the tile was an expensive mosaic pattern.

She stripped off her damp clothes, turned on the shower and held her breath until the spray changed from cold to a satisfying warm temperature. Grateful for scented soap and shampoo, she showered and washed her hair. As she dried herself, she caught her reflection in a gold-framed mirror above an oval-shaped sink. Worry and fear were etched in her face. Yesterday she’d been immersed in the challenges of her business. Now the success of Hollywood Boutique seemed hollow.

Lorrie. Her sister’s name caught in her throat. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes. I’m here, Lorrie. I’m here.

THE STORM passed over during the night. Ashley thought she must have slept a bit, even though she had twisted and turned restlessly. She was aware that sometime in the night, the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Darkness outside the door and windows began to lighten to a dull gray. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in designer jeans, a cotton blouse and a jacket.

Despite Brad Taylor’s assurance that he’d put out information on her sister’s disappearance, Ashley decided she wasn’t going to sit and wait for him or anyone else to respond. Her pent-up emotions demanded release. She was convinced that somebody on the island knew what had happened to Lorrie. She’d brave the chilly, foggy morning and walk down to the wharf. People might feel freer talking to her. She really didn’t care whether Officer Brad Taylor liked it or not.

Cautiously she opened her door. With only a vague idea of how to find her way out of the house, she began walking down the gloomy hall. All of the doors along the corridor were closed and there was no hint of anyone occupying the rooms. She must have covered the entire length of the wing the housekeeper had said was closed before she came to a narrow staircase that descended rather steeply to a closed door at the bottom.

She hesitated. Were these the same stairs she’d climbed last night? No, they were too narrow and steep. Was it going to take her half the morning to find her way out of the house? She knew it was early. The only sound she heard was the whisper of her steps and the creaking of the dark planked floorboards. High, gabled windows let in rays of feeble early sun. Maybe the household would not be stirring for hours.

When she came to a carpeted hall that widened, she sensed a difference in the surroundings. The musty smells disappeared as she hurried forward. When she came to another staircase, she thought it was probably the one she’d climbed the night before.

She peered over the banister and searched for a glimpse of something familiar in the hall below. When she reached the bottom of the steps, her ears picked up a clatter of kitchen noises and her nose sensed the odor of cooking.

She turned in the opposite direction. Her choice turned out to be the right one. She found herself in the front foyer. The heavy front door echoed loudly in the early morning hush as it closed behind her.

Drawing her jacket closely around her, she headed down the narrow road through a dark tunnel of trees that had hugged Brad’s car on both sides last night as they had driven up from the wharf. Wisps of gray fog rose from needled spruce branches drooping heavily with moisture. The road followed the rugged shoreline, and salty moist air bathed her face.

Slowly, the wooded area gave way to ground vegetation, and as the road descended from the high point of the island, she could see scattered weathered buildings near the wharf. There was a bustle of movement along the pier. Men were loading their boats for a day’s fishing and hauling on the water.

Ashley hurried to the small, whitewashed Wharf Café. Once inside the door, she was assaulted by the warmth of bodies, a clamor of loud voices and stares from the male customers.

She was out of her element and she knew it. Approaching these strangers was a far cry from relating to city merchandise buyers, but she was desperate. Moistening her dry lips, she began to circulate through the crowded tables. As she explained who she was and pleaded for any information about her missing sister, a ripple of quiet began to descend on the café.

“My sister was working for the Langdons. She’s a blonde, small and—”

“We know,” an older man with gray whiskers interrupted.

A rough-looking fisherman nodded. “Nice gal. Came in here once in a while for lunch, she did.”

“Heard about her disappearance,” offered a woman in work clothes sitting at one of the tables.

Ashley’s anxious gaze traveled around the room. “If anyone has any idea about what could have happened to my sister, please tell me. Anything…anything, at all.”

“Officer Taylor’s been all over the island,” a gruff man boomed.

At that point, a young waitress hurried over to Ashley. “I’m so sorry about your sister. Lorrie’s always so friendly and nice. I just love waiting on her.” She pressed Ashley’s hand. “She has to be all right…she just has to be! I can’t believe—” She broke off as someone came into the café. “Brad! Any news?”

“Not yet, Betsy.” Brad’s eyes settled on Ashley. “You’re out early, Miss Davis.”

“Yes, I am,” she replied, keeping her head erect and squarely meeting his eyes. “I thought I’d meet a few people on my own. Just in case—”

“I missed something?”

“I just want to help.”

“Good. I’m just heading to the office to make radio contact with as many boats in the area as I can. Would you like to come along?”

The invitation surprised her. Being at the heart of the investigation was better than letting her imagination run wild.

“Yes, I would. Thank you. I’ll call the Langdons and let them know where I’ll be.”

“Have you had breakfast?” When she shook her head, he turned to the waitress. “Betsy, send a couple of breakfast specials and coffee over to the station.”

BRAD WAS SILENT as they walked a short distance to a municipal building that also housed a volunteer department and the island’s post office.

He had no idea why he had impulsively invited Ashley Davis to come to the office with him. Something in her dogged manner had surprised and rather pleased him. He wouldn’t have expected her to have that kind of determination and self-sacrifice. His annoyance at her lack of faith in his abilities had been tempered by a begrudging admiration. He wasn’t used to having a woman challenge him on any level, but as she matched his step and walking rhythm, he suspected he might have found one.

“This is it,” he said as he ushered her inside. He wasn’t about to make apologies for its stark ugliness. The Greystone police station amounted to two rooms: an office and a small, windowless back room that served as a temporary jail. More often than not, the cell was occupied by someone needing a place to sleep off a hangover. The boatman, Jenkins, had been a guest more than once.

“Sorry, the place is a mess.” He quickly cleared a chair of a pile of folders. “I was attempting to clean the files when the Langdons called about your sister. Have a seat. Coffee and breakfast will be here soon.”

She surprised him with an apology. “I’m sorry if I was out of line going to the café like that. I just couldn’t stay at the house and wait.”

“No harm done. I’ll get started on the radio calls.” He turned his back to her and sat down at an old desk.

“Isn’t there something I can do to help?” she asked, still standing.

“Not at the moment.”

She fell silent as she sat down in a chair behind him. She picked at the breakfast order when it arrived, but Brad barely touched his, only pausing for hurried sips of black coffee.

He kept on the radio, referring to a record of various craft that had listed call numbers with the Portland authorities. He asked each commercial and private pilot to relay any information that might help locate the missing woman.