Unquiet Spirits Read online

  Unquiet Spirits

  By Dee Lloyd

  ISBN 1-55316-126-2

  Published by LTDBooks

  www.ltdbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2003 Dee Lloyd

  Artwork copyright © 2003 Patricia Storms

  Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Lloyd, Dee, 1932-

  Unquiet spirits [electronic resource] / Dee Lloyd.

  Also available in print.

  ISBN 1-55316-126-2

  I. Title.

  PS8573.L688U56 2004a C813'.54 C2003-907452-8

  Chapter One

  Kit leaned back against the office door and released a long shaky breath. She'd done it! Ten minutes ago she'd burned the last major bridge behind her. She could take off on an exciting, carefree adventure any time now--if she could think of a single place she wanted to go.

  Alone.

  Kit forced herself to focus on the familiar scene. The gleaming desktop looked unnatural without its usual piles of paper. Behind it, the leather bulk of her father's empty desk chair glared at her, emanating waves of cold disapproval. She fought down the familiar wave of guilt. She hadn't made the decision to step down lightly. If she was ever to sort out the chaos of her emotions, she had to get completely away from Florida and its memories.

  Yesterday, after she'd performed the unpleasant task of informing Gunther Roth and his team that she could not approve the funding for the next phase of his genetic restructuring research, she'd handed the reins of the foundation over to her assistant until further notice. And as of today, there would be no more Schofields running Schofield Pharmaceuticals. The board meeting had simply put the official stamp on Gordon's role as CEO.

  She took a deep breath and stifled the panic that rose in her throat every time she thought about cutting ties and starting a new life.

  She glanced hastily around her. The noonday sun poured through the picture window and glinted off the brass desk lamp onto the gleaming walnut desk. She gave herself a mental shake. She should take a memento of this six-year segment of her life. She picked up the onyx pen set Bart had given her when she had taken over this office six years ago.

  Their innocent affection had been so comfortable then.

  She reached over to flip on the intercom. "Hi, Helen. Please tell Gordon I'm ready to go."

  Thank goodness she'd already said her private farewells to her executive assistant and friend.

  She straightened her shoulders and stood up as tall as her five foot two frame would stretch. The staff would see the fashionable, decisive Kit Schofield they were used to seeing. She grasped the doorknob and launched herself into the hallway where Gordon waited for her.

  "Are you all right, Kit? Would you like to wait a bit to say your farewells?"

  There was genuine concern in his brown eyes. Kit wished she could throw herself into his brotherly, middle-aged embrace and tell him what was upsetting her. Gordon would gladly take over and organize her tangled life for her. But she was the only person who could sort out that chaos.

  "No, no. I'd like to get it over with," she said, fixing a bright smile on her lips.

  As if she didn't have a care in the world, she sauntered over to the crowd of well-wishers who had left their desks to say good-bye. After all, they thought she was heading off on a holiday to launch another phase in her glamorous golden life.

  Solid as always, Gordon remained at her side.

  They stepped out through the glass outer doors into the humid September day. The hot Florida sun beat down on their heads. The asphalt of the parking lot was so hot that it glistened in the brilliant sunshine.

  Kit stopped at the base of the steps and brushed a sisterly kiss on Gordon's cheek. "Thanks for everything, Gordon. You don't have to walk me to the car. It's right over there in the shade."

  Annoying tears began to well up behind her eyes as she strolled across the quiet parking lot toward the privacy of her little red sports car. She had to think positively. Who knew what wonderful experiences were just around the corner? Maybe she'd take a long trip. Be away from Florida for the hurricane season.

  Deep in thought, she was only vaguely aware of someone gunning a powerful motor about a hundred feet to her right.

  Suddenly, tires squealed as a white van with darkly tinted windows turned sharply and skidded into the parking lot. Startled, she turned toward the sound. The van picked up speed and hurtled around the circular driveway in her direction. Was the driver drunk? She took a couple of cautious steps backward toward the curb to give the van plenty of room to get by her. But the driver seemed to be steering right for her.

  "Kit! Get back here!" Gordon shouted.

  She whirled around and leapt back toward the building. The van swerved and mounted the curb after her. Gordon, moving amazingly fast for a man of his age and girth, grabbed her arm and yanked her hard out of its direct path. However, the front bumper managed to catch Kit's left leg and knock her loose of Gordon's grasp. She spun, flying against the concrete steps of the building.

  Instinctively, she tucked in her chin and tried to protect her head with her arms. The last thing she felt before the world went black was a fierce jolt of pain across her shoulders and down her right arm.

  In brief moments of semi-consciousness, she was aware of sirens and voices and pain. Above all, pain. She sensed she was in a moving vehicle for a while. Then there were occasional hazy moments of awareness when a vaguely familiar woman's voice gave brisk instructions and the pain receded for a while. But it returned--again and again.

  * * *

  She didn't know if it was hours or days later that Bart's low voice wrapped around her like a soothing blanket. She didn't quite catch the words She simply couldn't muster the energy to focus on them. But he was there.

  Time had little meaning for her as she drifted in this painful limbo.

  Eventually, the fog lifted, leaving only the pain. She opened her eyes a slit to find herself in a dim hospital room. Then, Bart bending over her.

  His blue eyes were dark with concern and he looked as if he hadn't shaved or slept in days. Just the sight of him made the pain fade for a moment.

  She was so glad to see him. It had been weeks since they had decided to do the only sensible thing and avoid each other. She tried to smile at him.

  "You've finally decided to wake up, have you, Kittle?" He turned and nodded at the gray-haired nurse standing on the other side of the hospital bed. "Will you call Dr. Wheeler, Bea?"

  Bea? Slowly, Kit made the connection. Bea Foster was the private duty nurse who had looked after Bart's father. What was Bea doing here? And where exactly was here?

  "She said she wanted to be notified as soon as Kit regained consciousness," Bea agreed. "I'll be right back with your meds, Kit," she added.

  Bart bent to place a light kiss on Kit's forehead. "I'll bet that's the only place that doesn't hurt," he said.

  That was true. And what really frightened her was the enormous amount of plaster she was wearing. Her upper body was tightly wrapped and she could see her right arm encased in a cast. Her left leg was in another cast. She seemed to be suspended in some kind of contraption
that was attached to pulleys. She tried to move her toes. The pain in her leg was intense but one toe moved slightly.

  "Bart," she croaked, "please. Am I paralyzed?"

  He looked into her eyes while his fingers lightly caressed her cheek. "Oh, no, Kittle. You may not think so right now, but you were very lucky. You broke your collarbone and your right arm. Cracked that not-so-funny humerus. You also did a good job on the tibia of your left leg. The good news is that you didn't injure your spine. And you didn't hit your head." He held her gaze for a moment as if he were going to say something more. Then he looked away.

  She lay quietly for a moment. There was something he wasn't saying.

  Bart ran his fingers impatiently through his blond thatch of hair, then looked at his watch.

  "Damn! The timing couldn't be worse, Kit, but I couldn't just leave you a message."

  "Your dad!" she gasped.

  "No, no. Dad is fine. Everyone is fine...except you, Kittle. But I've accepted a job with my old boss. Out of the country. It's a special negotiation."

  The only thing she knew about those negotiations was that during the last one, he'd been held hostage in some Middle Eastern country for three months. She couldn't stand it if anything happened to Bart.

  "Don't worry, Kit," he assured her. "That last trip was a comedy of errors. People got their wires crossed. That won't happen again."

  She didn't have the energy to tell him that she wasn't fool enough to believe that. She closed her eyes to keep back insistent tears.

  "Please don't go to sleep on me, Kit. I have to go in a few minutes. My flight leaves in an hour." He cast an anxious glance at the door. "I was hoping I could be here when Dr. Wheeler came in to explain about your injuries."

  She wanted to tell him she didn't want him to leave...that she was in pain and didn't want to be alone. But she simply mumbled, "Good-bye, then. Keep safe." And let the tears come.

  "Bea," Bart called urgently. "Hurry with that medication."

  Kit was sure that no kind of medication would erase this sense of desolation but whatever was in the injection Bea gave her dragged her back into sweet oblivion.

  Chapter Two

  A full seven months after the attack that had sent her to Healing Springs Hospital, Kit finally took the wheel of her sweet little red Miata and headed home to West Palm Beach. She hummed tunelessly and reveled in the morning sun on her face and the wind whipping through her hair.

  It was a relief to be going home. Being around a couple who were as much in love as Bart's twin brother Bret and his wife Milly were was not easy; however, she'd survived their devastating cheerfulness at Christmas and their toasts to a rosy future at New Year's. Then the warm and fuzzy season was over and Bart was still away on his hush-hush business trip.

  She'd done her best to put him out of her mind, but couldn't resist skimming Bret's European newspapers for a glimpse of him. Apparently Bart's business involved quite a bit of high profile partying with gorgeous and more than sociable socialites. One news photo of a New Year's Eve gala at somebody's villa on the Côte d'Azur had hurt. The photographer was interested in catching a prince of some minor principality kissing a woman who was not his wife, but in the background was a well-built blond man. A smiling Bart Thornton had a beautiful dark-haired woman draped all over him.

  Kit had no right to be upset. She and Bart had promised they would pretend that those uncontrolled moments after Ronald's attempt to kill her had never happened. She only wished she could forget the incredible surge of emotion and passion that had exploded into that first kiss of relief.

  But there was no point in dwelling on that.

  She'd been lucky. Her bones had healed straight, her casts were long gone and the ugly discoloration on her legs and upper body had faded away. She refused to spend one more second trying to figure out who the mysterious driver of the van that hit her could be. The police put the incident down to "random violence." That had to be good enough.

  Kit parked in front of her stone and timbered home and sat looking at it for a moment. The house was wildly out of place among the stucco, concrete and gleaming glass of West Palm Beach's oceanfront mansions. The idea of an English country manor on a Florida beach had tickled grandfather Schofield's sense of whimsy. Over time, the stone and timbers had become weathered enough to fit in with the palm trees and bougainvillea. Laila had loved it. Kit liked it well enough, but found its size a bit overwhelming for one person.

  Well, she was home! Milly had tried to talk Kit out of leaving this morning, but she knew she'd already stayed too long. Without even bothering to call her housekeeper to say she was returning, she'd packed a few essentials and left.

  She stepped briskly out of the car, got her bag out of the trunk and ran quickly up the front steps. She felt fine now--healthy, strong. Fine.

  When she unlocked the front door, she was met by the smell of furniture polish and echoing silence.

  A pile of mail sat beside the vase of fresh flowers on the waist-high table that graced the marble-tiled entrance hall. The gleaming oak surface was ideal for sorting mail.

  She riffled through the envelopes quickly, telling herself that there was no point in looking for Bart's bold scrawl. His brother had received a note from him last week saying that he'd be back in West Palm in a week or so. Bret figured he could be here as early as tomorrow. That was another good reason for her to leave the newlyweds.

  She didn't have much luck with men. Ronald had fooled her completely. He'd seemed so sincere about loving her and wanting her to be the mother of his children. She shivered to think how close he'd come to killing her for the money. If Bart hadn't fired first...

  Bart. It always came back to Bart. Falling in love had blind-sided them both. She had loved Bart since she was five years old. Actually, she had idolized both him and his twin brother, Bret, from the moment her mother had married their father. Even after the divorce, the long holidays Kit had spent with Uncle Will and her two wonderful "cousins" were the happiest times of her life.

  Then, everything had changed. The attraction to Bart had sneaked up on her. As the nightmare of her marriage intensified so did her impossible desire to be with Bart. The barely controllable lust that suddenly sparked between her and the golden man who had always been something between brother and a dearly loved cousin was wrong. No matter that he was no blood kin. In her heart and in her fondest memories, he was family.

  That put him out of bounds.

  Automatically, she sorted the envelopes, tossing the junk mail into the waste paper basket. There was a letter from Canada.

  Kit had met her grandmother, Johanna, for the first time when she was fifteen and they had rarely met since. But they'd shared a genuine fondness for each other from the moment that Johanna had clasped Kit to her rather spectacular bosom and stated, "I have always wanted a granddaughter. You will call me Johanna."

  They also shared the ownership of Spirit Lake Resort.

  Because she and Johanna did most of their resort business by email and fax--occasionally by telephone--a letter from Johanna was rare. And it was always a cryptic marvel of brevity. What could she want this time?

  She tore open the envelope.

  Kat:

  (Kit smiled at her grandmother's persistence. Kit was named after her grandmother Katrina; she should be called Kat. Shouldn't she?)

  We need to develop your grandfather's old sawmill property. Betsy Warner has worked up a cheerful business plan that will expand the resort business and do a lot to counteract all the silly talk about our hauntings.

  Will you come up here to talk to her or should we come to Florida?

  Johanna.

  Hauntings? Johanna and Aunt Elsa were a little eccentric, but had they gone right round the bend?

  Who on earth was Betsy Warner? Whoever she was, Kit hoped her business plan was more sensible than Johanna's last brainstorm. That one proposed that seventy-year-old Johanna and dear, vague Aunt Elsa, who must be pushing sixty, build stables, bu
y horses and provide trail rides for resort guests. It might have been a good plan if either of the women had ever been near a horse.

  Why not go up to Muskoka and find out? Kit felt a spark of her old energy. Yes. She'd go to Canada. And if this "cheerful business plan" had any possibilities at all, throw herself wholeheartedly into it. Best of all, she would be away from West Palm Beach when Bart returned home. She wouldn't be running away. She'd be on a business trip.

  Besides, it was past time that she paid some attention to the place.

  And to her only living relatives.

  Kit grinned. This was just what she needed. With a little effort, she could be on the road tomorrow morning. Or, maybe she'd fly to Toronto, buy a SUV there and do the short drive up to Spirit Lake directly.

  Yes, and she could leave the truck at the resort when she returned home. If she returned home.

  She found she was humming again. No one listening would recognize it, but this tune was even more upbeat and cheerful than the one she'd mutilated in the car. Being tone deaf didn't matter when you were alone!

  * * *

  "What do you mean, 'I just missed her'?" Bart stared at his brother in disbelief. "Where is she?"

  "I'm not exactly sure," Bret admitted, looking away from him, to close the folder he'd been reading and put it on the pile at the edge of his desk. "Can I get you a beer? Or a coffee?"

  "You're not sure?" Bart bellowed, ignoring the ridiculous offer. "The guy who ran Kit down and almost killed her is still at large. How could you let her take off without telling you where she was going?"

  His brother's wry grimace said it all. How did anyone stop Kit from doing something she had made up her mind to do? The headstrong scrawny kid with the big blue eyes had grown up to be a much too attractive dangerously independent woman. Didn't she realize someone had tried to kill her?

  "Hold on. I don't know precisely where she is right now. Kit's healthy again and decided to visit her grandmother up in Canada. Seems they have some business to discuss about that resort Johanna runs.

  "And it's good to see you, too, bro. All in one piece this time."