Eye of the Beholder

  He thought about how Red Mask had put his filthy arm around Alexa’s throat.

  “Me?” he said. “I’m swell. No more than semihysterical.”

  She uttered something that sounded like a cross between a mad laugh and a sob and huddled against him. “Oh, my God, Trask. Oh, my God. That man with the tire iron…”

  “It’s all right.” He stroked her back with an awkward motion and tried to think of something reassuring to say. “It was me they were after. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, you’re on the wrong track.”

  A heavy white Lincoln pulled out of a space at the end of the aisle and drifted swiftly toward them. It came to a halt when it was directly opposite. The driver’s window slid down.

  Trask looked at the bulky, florid-faced man behind the wheel. The yellow light from the parking lot lamps gleamed on his balding skull and gave his features an unhealthy sheen.

  “Hello, Guthrie,” Trask said softly. He felt Alexa freeze against his side. “Your two goons went thataway. You know, if you paid more than minimum wage, you’d probably be able to hire better talent.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Trask.” Guthrie’s hoarse, rasping voice was slurred with alcohol. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “I’ve heard that too much booze affects the eyesight.”

  Fury flashed in Guthrie’s face. “I know you’ve come back here to make trouble, you SOB. But you damn well better not mess with me. You unnerstand? Nobody messes with Dean Guthrie.”

  “He’s drunk,” Alexa whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Trask ignored her. “There’s something you need to understand, Guthrie. This is between you and me. You made a mistake tonight. You involved Ms. Chambers. That’s against the rules.”

  “I don’t give a fucking damn about your threats, Trask.” Guthrie’s voice rose. “Got that? Not a fucking damn. Come near me again and I’ll go to the cops.”

  Trask realized that Guthrie had raised his voice because they had drawn a small audience. Two middle-aged couples had emerged from the restaurant and now stood watching the scene with shocked expressions. The gossip about the confrontation in the Red Canyon Country Club parking lot would be all over town in the morning.

  “I think we’d better have this conversation some other time,” Trask said.

  “Bullshit. We’ll have it now. You still think I had something to do with your father’s death, don’t you, you crazy bastard?”

  Trask watched him. “Did you?”

  “Goddamnit, you’re as stubborn as he was.” Guthrie’s face worked. “I knew you’d come back. I knew it that night you charged into my house. My wife said you were just letting off steam, but I knew better.”

  “You were right,” Trask said.

  “That’s enough, please.” Alexa’s voice sharpened. “There’s no point talking to him.”

  Guthrie peered at Alexa and then his big head swiveled back toward Trask. “So what’s the master plan, here, Mr. Fucking Hot Shot CEO?”

  “Alexa’s right. You’re drunk.” Trask took her arm. “Get out of here, Guthrie.”

  “Think you can get your revenge on Kenyon by fucking his stepdaughter? Is that it?”

  Rage exploded in Trask’s veins. He released Alexa and started toward the Lincoln. “I said, that’s enough.”

  “Trask, no.” Alexa snatched at his sleeve.

  He ignored her.

  Guthrie’s eyes glinted with malice as Trask neared the car. “Maybe you’re gonna try to get your hands on her money, huh? That would sure piss off Kenyon.”

  Trask did not respond. He was only a yard away from the Lincoln.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, you son-of-a-bitch?” Guthrie’s voice rose. “Leave me alone. I’ll have you arrested if you so much as come near me.”

  He gunned the Lincoln. It shot forward, tires screaming, just as Trask started to reach for the door handle.

  The two middle-aged couples stood statue still. They stared, bemused, at Trask and Alexa.

  Trask watched the Lincoln disappear into the night. Then he turned to look at Alexa. She was watching him with huge eyes. He groaned.

  “I realize that I didn’t make a good impression twelve years ago. And this scene probably didn’t do much to improve my image as a fun date. But I wouldn’t want you to get the idea that every time I go out I end up in a brawl.”

  She blinked a couple of times. Then her mouth curved in a shaky smile. “I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

  Trask glowered at Calvin Strood, Avalon’s chief of police, across the expanse of Strood’s dented metal desk. “I told Alexa that this would be a waste of time.”

  Alexa, seated next to him, frowned in disapproval. “Don’t be ridiculous. We had to report what happened in the parking lot.”

  Strood’s rawhide and leather features grimaced in a pained expression. He had made it clear that he was not happy about being pulled away from the late-night television news to come down to Avalon’s small police station to take the statements. Trask was pretty sure that the only reason he hadn’t let one of his officers handle the complaint was because the complainant had recently become the town’s biggest employer.

  “We’ll keep an eye out for those two who mugged you,” Strood said patiently. “But my guess is they’re already long gone to Phoenix or Tucson. Even if they’re still in town it’ll be hard to pick ’em out in the crowd. Avalon is filled with visitors this week. Festival time, you know.”

  “Talk to Guthrie,” Trask said evenly.

  Strood’s brows rose. “You sure that’s what you want me to do? According to what I hear, you and Guthrie were seen engaged in an argument. I believe the exact phrase was, in a heated argument. No one saw the two men you claim tried to mug you.”

  “Talk to Guthrie,” Trask repeated. “Ask him about the two thugs.”

  “Okay, okay.” Strood sighed heavily. “But I’m not going to promise anything. You got no names, no descriptions, and no license plate. Hell, neither of you is even hurt and nothing got stolen. All you’ve got is some wild theory that Guthrie sent two men to rough you up.”

  Alexa sat forward tensely. “Are you implying that we made up the whole thing?”

  Strood shook his head. “No, Ms. Chambers. I’m just saying that I haven’t got a lot to work with here. I’ll do what I can.”

  Translated, that meant nothing, Trask thought.

  13

  The heels of Alexa’s sandals tinged on the mosaic tiles. She came to a halt just inside the vast, unabashedly ornate spa and allowed the sultry atmosphere to envelop her.

  The warmth felt good. The adrenaline had evaporated from her system, but it had left an unpleasant, shivery chill in its wake.

  “This is incredible,” she said.

  Water the color of liquid aquamarines lapped at the edges of the room’s three freeform pools. In addition to the soaking areas there were two fountains. Neither was operating at the moment. Tiled and gilded pillars rose gracefully into the shadows of the high ceiling. Ranks of webbed loungers and draped massage tents were flanked by an array of palms and ferns.

  An eerie silence hung over the steamy chamber. She and Trask had the place to themselves. The hotel was not scheduled to open until tomorrow. Only a skeleton staff was on duty tonight.

  “Edward told me the architect had done a magnificent job in here, but I had no idea it had turned out like this.” Lord, she was babbling. Another aftereffect of the night’s violence, no doubt.

  “The spa wasn’t open to the public last night.” Trask closed the heavy opaque glass doors behind him. “The PR people were afraid someone might drink too much champagne and fall into one of the pools.”

  He opened a side door and stepped into a small room. Alexa caught a glimpse of glowing dials on a control panel. Trask contemplated the switches for a moment and then flipped two of them.

  A melodic, burb
ling sound made Alexa turn back to the two fountains. Water spouted from each and cascaded into the low blue-green bases.

  She smiled faintly. “It looks like a fantasy version of an ancient Roman spa.”

  “Fantasy is what an Avalon hotel is all about.” Trask watched her from the shadows. “Feel free to look around, but you’d better take off your shoes first. This floor is designed for bare feet and rubber soles.”

  “All right.”

  She could feel his brooding gaze on her as she stepped out of her high heels. Neither of them had said much since they had returned from the interview with Chief Strood. Trask had used one of the resort’s cars to drive to the station.

  After they had talked to Strood, Trask had brought her back here to the resort instead of taking her straight home. She had made no protest. The truth was she was not particularly eager to be alone just yet, she thought.

  The tiles were warm beneath her stocking-clad feet. She went to the edge of the largest of the three soaking pools and looked down.

  Trask had not turned on all of the lights, only those beneath the surface of the water in the three pools. The submerged glow, made blue and hazy from the steam, enhanced the otherwordly atmosphere.

  Trask took off his own shoes. Barefoot, he walked slowly toward her across the mosaic floor.

  An atavistic thrill went through her at his approach. Another symptom of adrenaline withdrawal? she wondered. Instinctively she moved out of his path. He paused, watching her.

  She went to stand at the edge of one of the tiered fountains. After a few seconds, he changed course to follow, halting less than a yard away from her. She stared at the bubbling water and tried to think of some clever, offhand remark. It wasn’t easy. The unfamiliar energy of naked physical attraction was suddenly swirling up through the mists.

  The genie was out of the bottle.

  “There is nothing so seductive as water in the desert,” she said softly.

  “You’re wrong. There are more seductive things.”

  She glanced quickly over her shoulder. It was a mistake. The expression in his eyes sent a wave of heat through her. Alarmed, she sought to regain control of herself and the situation.

  She opted for the direct approach.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

  “Two reasons. I wanted to apologize again for what happened to you in the parking lot. It was my fault. I should never have—”

  “Forget it.” She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t take responsibility for everything, Trask.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he did not respond to that. “The second reason I brought you back here was that I wanted to tell you that what Guthrie said was a lie. I don’t have any plans to use you against Lloyd Kenyon.”

  “Because you don’t think you can?” She turned completely around to face him. “Or because you draw the line at that kind of thing?”

  “What do you think?”

  She hesitated. “As I said earlier, I’m reserving judgment about you, just as you are about me. But I will tell you one thing, Trask. If you do have plans to use me against Lloyd, you can forget them. You’ll be wasting your time.”

  He eyed her thoughtfully. “This relationship is not exactly getting off to a great start, is it?”

  “This relationship,” she said deliberately, “is business, not personal. You’ve agreed to share your conspiracy theories with me before you take any action, and I’m going to hold you to that bargain.”

  “You’re sure this is the way you want it?”

  “I’m sure.” She studied the tiles at the bottom of the fountain pool. “Guthrie threatened you tonight. It’s obvious that your presence here in town has scared him badly.”

  “I told you that I came here to stir up trouble.”

  “Congratulations. You’ve obviously succeeded.” She glanced at him. “You could have been seriously injured tonight.”

  He smiled slightly, but his eyes were cool and unreadable. “Does that worry you?”

  “Yes.” she said.

  He took another step toward her, closing the small distance between them. “Why?”

  His question unnerved her. It also made her angry. “I’d like you to stay in one piece long enough to read the reviews of your hotel’s new art collection. I’ve got something to prove, and I can’t do it if you get clobbered by Dean Guthrie’s hired thugs.”

  “Nice to know you care.” His smile was cold. “But you don’t have to worry. I can handle Guthrie.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ll admit you handled the situation tonight.”

  “I had help. That was a neat trick with the heel of your shoe, by the way.”

  “Lloyd taught me that before I went off to college.”

  “I see.”

  Another of the unpleasant, involuntary shivers went through Alexa. “Guthrie’s dangerous, Trask.”

  “Guthrie’s temper and his drinking problem are two of the reasons why he’s at the top of my list of suspects.”

  “What are your other reasons?”

  Trask was quiet for a moment. She sensed that he was debating how much information to give her. For a while she thought he would simply brush her off. Then to her surprise, he started to talk.

  “According to the information my investigator turned up, Guthrie was in major financial hot water twelve years ago. He was severely overextended. Facing bankruptcy. Something had to give.”

  Alexa considered that and then shook her head. “Guthrie’s a developer. According to Lloyd, developers always seem to be overextended and teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. It’s a way of life for most of them.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, Guthrie’s financial situation at the time of Dad’s death gives him a motive,” Trask said evenly.

  “A dubious one, if you ask me. What information have you got on Lloyd that makes him number two on your list of so-called suspects?”

  “Kenyon also had invested money in several projects.”

  She shot him an exasperated glare. “Lloyd’s a real estate investor. Arranging finance money for other people’s projects is what he does. He’s good at it. I told you, he manages the inheritance I got from my grandmother. My portfolio has increased in value every year, even during the last economic downturn.”

  “I never said Kenyon was bad at what he did.” Trask’s jaw tightened. “Just the opposite. Twelve years ago he concluded that Dad’s dreams of turning the old Avalon Mansion into a world-class resort was never going to work. He wanted to get his clients’ money out of the project. Dad threatened to make that difficult.”

  “Lloyd has dealt with developers and complex financial situations for years. He knows how to handle people and money. I can guarantee you that he doesn’t resort to murder whenever someone makes life difficult for him.”

  Trask said nothing for a moment. He contemplated the water spilling down the sides of the fountain.

  “They were both right, you know,” he said eventually.

  Alexa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Kenyon and Guthrie were both right to pull the plug on Dad’s Avalon Mansion project. They would have lost a lot of money if it hadn’t been halted.”

  Alexa heard the underlying frustration and something else, something that might have been pain, in his voice. She did not know what to say.

  “I see,” she managed.

  Trask put a bare foot on the low rim of the fountain. He leaned forward, braced one forearm on his knee, and looked down into the foaming water.

  “I told you, my father was a dreamer,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “He was a man of vision, but he was not very good when it came to the bottom line. The Avalon Mansion project was a disaster waiting to happen. It was undercapitalized and poorly managed from the start. But Dad wouldn’t listen to—”

  He broke off abruptly. The fingers of his left hand flexed once.

  Comprehension cr
ashed through Alexa. “Your father would not listen to you? Is that what you were about to say?”

  “He was obsessed with the Avalon project. He had a vision of what it could be.” Trask’s mouth was a grim line. “When Dad was riding the wings of a fantasy, he couldn’t see the reality of a stone wall looming in front of him.”

  Alexa drew a deep breath. “You tried to tell him, didn’t you?”

  “I argued with him until I was hoarse. He said I was only twenty-three. What the hell did I know?”

  “But you knew, didn’t you?”

  Trask turned his head slowly. His eyes were pitiless. “It was the worst of all our head-on clashes. Much worse than the one we had when I told him I didn’t want to play college ball, let alone try for the pros. Worse than the battle we fought when he used the money my mother had left for Nathan’s college education to finance his doomed private ferry scheme.”

  Alexa realized that the chilling blame in Trask’s gaze was not directed at the memory of his father. It was aimed at himself.

  “I used up all of my logic and reason that night, and then I lost my temper,” Trask continued softly. “I told him that he was going to bankrupt us again. I pleaded with him to ditch the Avalon project. I told him to think about Nathan’s future. Dad was furious. He said I had no vision. He slammed down the phone and so did I.”

  “That night?” A terrible sympathy flashed through Alexa. “You quarreled that night, didn’t you? The night your father was killed in the accident.”

  Trask’s eyes were hooded now. She knew that he had said far more than he had intended.

  “Three hours after I put down the phone I got the call from the Avalon cops telling me my father had driven his car off Avalon Point.”

  “Oh, Trask.” Not knowing what else to do, she reached out to touch his shoulder. “No wonder you’ve been obsessed with finding answers. Deep down you’re afraid that you might have been the one who was responsible for your father’s death, aren’t you?”

  His eyes gleamed with sudden fury. “What the hell are you talking about? I told you, Dad was murdered, and I’m going to prove it.”