In the Running Page 4

  Anyone who didn’t know Gladys Fitzpatrick as well as Jon did would look at the elegant woman sitting across the breakfast table from him and think she was perfectly calm. A lifetime in the public eye enabled her to sit with a relaxed smile on her face and her manicured fingers resting easily in her lap. The tension around her fine, old, carefully made-up eyes, however, told a different story.

  He’d like to throttle the headstrong old girl for calling the cops last night. He thought she’d bought the story that Maura was just having a jealous tantrum. Of course, he’d been so damned tired he hadn’t read Glad as well as he usually did.

  By the time Wilson had finally thought to take the hinges off the door of Danny’s office Sunday night, Maura was long gone. They had hurriedly stowed Danny’s body in the trunk of Wilson’s car. Then leaving Wilson to deal with the cleanup, Jon taken off with Walt to try to find Maura. After he’d wasted three hours looking for the troublesome bitch, Jon had broken speed records getting back to Lansing in time to pretend to wake up in his own apartment at Glad’s.

  With no sleep at all, he’d had to hang around the old lady all day and suffer through all her phone calls to anyone she could think of who might know where Maura was. He had to be there when Glad got in touch with her. He left her for one measly hour after dinner to make some calls of his own and she’d called the cops.

  Now he was going to have to out-think everyone. He had the advantage that everyone assumed that he was devoted to the uptight little prude. Why couldn’t Glad’s granddaughter be like the other women in his life? Most females were like putty in his hands, but not the one woman he needed to control to make sure that he had the Taylor-Fitzpatrick connection sewed up.

  After he’d learned that Danny had found out about the profits he’d skimmed, Jon had tried to coax Maura into eloping with him to Vegas. The frigid bitch wouldn’t be coaxed or seduced, almost broke the engagement on Saturday when he came on a little too strong. Then when she stumbled on the foul-up with Danny, she left him with only one course of action. He couldn’t get her into bed so using sex to control her was out. He simply had to find her fast and get rid of her.

  Well, he was the master of dazzling his heavyweight opponents with flashy speed and dexterity. He had a couple of ideas that he had set in motion earlier this morning.

  “The police will do their best for you, Glad,” he replied after a long pause. “But I’m worried about Maura.” He gave her his best ‘I’m really suffering here’ look. “Who knows what she might do in the state she’s in? I really feel guilty. I knew her nerves were in bad shape, but I never dreamed she’d take that waitress coming on to me so seriously.”

  The old girl was swallowing this line, too. Glad Fitzpatrick had been a real fire-eater in her prime. Even ten years ago she would have been a tough sell, but she wasn’t as keen as she used to be, and sitting on the sidelines these last few years since the Governor died had made her ripe for the picking. She wanted him to be the next political star as much as he did.

  Jon had told her a number of times that he was concerned about the amphetamines he suspected Maura was taking to get her through the long hours she worked at the lodge. He had to laugh at the idea of straight-arrow Maura getting into any kind of drugs. But Glad would believe black was white if he told her so.

  “She knows better than to get upset about aggressive women,” she replied on cue. “Maura’s had enough exposure to politics to know that’s part of public life. I wouldn’t have believed she’d ever fly off the handle like that.” She sighed. “She was always such a calm, sensible girl.”

  “She wasn’t very calm a couple of weeks ago after the robbery,” he threw in.

  “That was the first time I actually saw one of those mood swings you told me about.” The muscles around her mouth tightened.

  He knew it rankled that Maura had lost patience with her, when Glad had been almost hysterical about losing some of her favorite jewelry.

  “Well, probably Maura will come home soon full of apologies for getting you upset,” he soothed. “All we can do now is wait.”

  Yes, relax while you can, Glad. Things are about to heat up. He wondered if Walt had been able to get the rumors started yet.

  Chapter Four

  Maura was jolted awake by a man speaking loudly in the next room. It wasn’t Matt’s low, rumbling voice. A smooth professional radio announcer was clearly enunciating her name.

  “… missing persons warrant for Maura Fitzpatrick, granddaughter of Gladys Fitzpatrick and the late Governor George Fitzpatrick,” the announcer was saying. “She was last seen at eight o’clock Sunday evening leaving Driftwood Lodge where she has been head chef for the past eighteen months. Her car was discovered at Grand Rapids airport yesterday. Anyone having information about the whereabouts of Maura Fitzpatrick should phone this station’s news hotline at 555-INFO or the State Police. Although police have refused comment, there are persistent rumors of foul play.”

  Foul play? The words echoed in her head. Did the police think the blood on Danny’s office carpet was hers? Or did they think she’d had something to do with Danny’s death? The bulletin hadn’t mentioned wanting her for questioning.

  She wished she’d heard the whole broadcast. She hadn’t missed a newscast on the car radio yesterday - at least until she’d lost touch with the outside world around four o’clock. She’d thought she would hear some kind of report because of her 911 call. However, there had been nothing.

  Maybe Danny hadn’t been killed. Then again, Jon and his associates could have seen to it that his body disappeared. She wondered what kind of tale Wilson told the police and the ambulance personnel when they arrived.

  Now everyone was looking for her.

  Gran must have called the police in the morning when she discovered that Maura had not arrived late Sunday night as she’d promised. She’d have called Maura’s cottage at the lodge, then the front desk. The next logical step would be to call Jon.

  All Gran’s hopes were riding on Jon. She was steering his political career the way she’d hoped to guide her son’s and then her granddaughter’s. Maura took a deep, shuddering breath. Gran was doomed to disappointment again because if it was the last thing she did, she was going to see that Jon never got to hold public office.

  She sat up slowly. Her head didn’t throb the way it had last night but she was still a bit dizzy. Some avenger she was!

  The first step was to get out of bed. She eased herself to her feet. The room rocked for a moment, then settled down. She should not need help to make it to the bathroom. If she moved slowly enough, she discovered, the world stayed on an even keel.

  The face in the washroom mirror came as a shock. She’d forgotten about the brown dye job and the drastic haircut. She wondered if the cheap reading glasses she’d bought to complete the disguise had been lost in the wreck. She looked at the raw scrapes and the multicolored swelling that distorted the left side of her face. She looked as if she’d been in a fight. Even without the glasses, no one would recognize her. Looking this awful was a good disguise.

  The memory of Matt’s unexpectedly attractive smile flashed through her mind. She was glad she was a mess. She really was.

  She leaned against the little sink and tried to assess her situation. She had the impression they’d driven quite a distance after the accident. She hadn’t seen the lights of any neighbors when she and Matt arrived at the marina last night. She didn’t know how far it was to the nearest village or town.

  She had less than two hundred dollars in her purse - and a one and a half-carat diamond engagement ring. She couldn’t get to or stay at the cabin without a car and she had no way of getting one. The unpleasant facts just kept piling up.

  She didn’t know how Matt would react if he figured out that she was the Maura Fitzpatrick the police were looking for. She straightened up and looked again at her face in the mirror. Her eye color was the only feature she had in common with Maura Fitzpatrick. Until the swelling went down, she w
as safe.

  Carefully, she made her way back across the bedroom towards the door to the living room. This was better. She’d had only one bout of light-headedness. Now that her vision wasn’t blurred, she felt more able to cope.

  Matt stood in the half-open door. Her spirits rose a notch.

  “Wyn called,” he informed her. “She said unless you needed her sooner, she’d come by around noon.”

  He didn’t look as if he was about to move out of her way.

  “I thought I’d stay up for a while,” Maura said taking another step.

  “Fine. Wyn suggested you try some orange juice and dry toast. You can have it on the sofa in front of the fire. I’ll get it for you before I leave for the boathouse.”

  He turned on his heel and was gone before she could say a word. The warm, sympathetic man who had watched over her last night had become cool and remote, but his matter-of-fact acceptance of her presence in his house was reassuring. He seemed to have put his suspicions about her nightmare on hold.

  By the time Bronwyn bustled in at noon, Maura was glad of the diversion. The morning had consisted of a lot of restless naps between long periods of worrying. Matt had left the number of his pager which she hadn’t used and had come by to check on her once. “Your color is much better,” Bronwyn pronounced.

  Maura managed a tiny crooked grin. “If you’re into strong colors,” she said.

  Bronwyn responded to her attempt at humor with a little grin of her own. “Yeah. And in a couple of days it will fade to yellow and a nice, sickly green. Is the headache easing off?”

  When Maura told her it was almost gone, she nodded sagely. “Good. You’re one of the lucky ones. Sometimes it does pass off quickly. You’ll have to take it easy for a few days, just in case, but I think you’re on the mend.”

  Lucky! There was that word again.

  “I don’t think you’ll be up to looking for a job for a few days though. You’re welcome to stay here until you’re ready. Why don’t you look at today’s paper while I make us some lunch?”

  Bronwyn tossed a folded newspaper at her. “Don’t look so glum. Things will look up soon.”

  Maura tried to smile back at her, but the smile died on her lips. On the front page was the studio portrait that Gran had insisted be taken for the formal announcement of her engagement to Jon six short weeks ago. Maybe she was lucky after all. The flattering photograph made her look prettier than she’d ever been on her best day. At this moment, she didn’t resemble the confident, smiling woman with the long blond hair at all.

  “MISSING,” the caption blared. The article mentioned her grandmother’s wealth and political influence and her fiancé‘s high-profile legal career but offered no new information. It did state that Danny DiMarco, owner of Driftwood Lodge, had been unavailable for comment. Did that mean, in spite of Wilson’s certainty that Danny was dead, he had regained consciousness and was refusing to talk to reporters? It was more likely her talkative boss would never speak to anyone again.

  “I took Matt’s sandwiches out to the boathouse,” Bronwyn told her as she deposited a plate of toast and a mug of broth on the end table beside her. “When he’s working on his sailboat, he doesn’t break for lunch. Besides, he hates it when I turn on my noon hour soaps.” She flipped on the television set.

  Maura had little appetite but managed to eat a few mouthfuls of whole-wheat toast and drink most of the broth Bronwyn had prepared. The fictional woes of the characters on the screen took most of Bronwyn’s attention but she did attempt a bit of casual probing during the commercials.

  “Matt told me you were looking for kitchen work at one of the ski lodges. Have you done a lot of that?”

  “Not at a ski lodge.” Maura didn’t want to tell any lies that might trip her up later.

  Bronwyn waited.

  “I worked in a couple of hotels in Detroit.” That was true enough. She’d worked her way up through the ranks of sous-chefs in one of the best hotels in the city before accepting the chance to run her own kitchen as master chef at Driftwood Lodge.

  “Get tired of the city?” Bronwyn prodded.

  “Had some personal problems with my last boss.”

  Maura was surprised she could utter that understatement without bursting into hysterical laughter. When the news came on, Bronwyn changed the topic.

  “Frankly,” she admitted, “I’m not great at spending my time doing housework and watching soaps. Now that Tommy’s in school all day, I’m starting to itch to get back to nursing.” She cast a speculative eye at Maura. “Dad’s recovering well. When he’s a little more mobile, maybe I’ll do it.”

  Was Bronwyn on her own with her son? There had been no mention of a husband. Maura was tempted to do a little probing of her own; however, she’d be smarter to keep conversation impersonal and short.

  The regular cadence of the news anchor’s voice broke.

  “We have a news flash. We are switching now to the steps of the courthouse, where attorney, Jon Casen, is meeting members of the press, one of whom is our own Barbara Bellman. Barbara.”

  Maura found it difficult to breathe.

  “Jon Casen,” the reporter in question confided into her microphone, “who made his reputation for hard-hitting litigation in the Love Canal cleanup, made a surprising move this morning. Acting as counsel for the Good Earth League, he has withdrawn the group’s request for an injunction against VitaChemical to stop emissions into the Detroit River.”

  “He can’t do that!” Bronwyn exploded. “He told our committee last week he wouldn’t quit until they closed VitaChem down!”

  The fluttering wings of panic filled Maura’s chest again.

  Now she knew where she’d seen Bronwyn Cooper. They hadn’t met because Maura had been too busy catering the huge Good Earth League conference at the lodge last spring to take part in the sessions. Besides she’d still been resisting the pressure from Gran to accept Jon’s proposal and refusing to attend public functions at his side. But even in that large crowd, she’d noticed Bronwyn’s distinctive height and confident bearing.

  She had to keep calm. Learning that Jon’s influence reached even the marina was a shock. Even so, she couldn’t afford to panic. What on earth Jon was up to now?

  On the courthouse steps a few feet behind Barbara Bellman, he stood surrounded by reporters who were elbowing for position and shoving microphones at his face. Jon’s expression was grave as he told his audience that it would be inappropriate to discuss his tactics in the VitaChem matter at the moment. Squaring his shoulders as he looked directly into the camera, he was the personification of a man determined to remain strong in the face of almost unendurable pressures.

  “Is there anything new on your fiancée’s disappearance?” a reporter called out from the back of the crowd.

  “Nothing helpful.”

  Maura marveled at how she’d allowed herself to be taken in by Jon’s public image. She recognized the sensitive, distressed face he was wearing. It was the one he used when he was being photographed with an oil-coated seagull or a hapless rabbit that had been caught in a leg-hold trap. His artfully windblown hair and crooked tie were calculated to give the impression that Jon was too worried to care about the image he presented.

  She compared the appealing concern on his handsome face to the feral intensity in the photos that Danny’s investigator had taken of Jon in the grip of his lust and in the look he’d focused on her when he realized she’d witnessed Danny’s murder. Maura wanted to pummel him until at least one of his lying eyes was as blackened and swollen as hers was.

  “Mr. Casen.” Barbara Bellman had managed to squeeze through the crowd so that she was standing beside Jon. “There’s a rumor that Maura Fitzpatrick was kidnapped and the kidnapper’s demand was that you drop the action against VitaChemical. Was today’s action the price for your fiancée’s life?”

  A look of pain crossed Jon’s face. Stunned as she was at the outrageous suggestion, Maura had to admit the man could act.

/>   “I can’t comment on that.” He straightened his shoulders, gave one last agonized look at the camera, then shouldered his way past the outstretched microphones and hurried down the steps, muttering, “No more questions.”

  Barbara Bellman’s face was solemn as she intoned, “You saw Jon Casen’s reaction to reports of the abduction of his fiancée, Maura Fitzpatrick. Sources close to him report he is desperately worried about her fate. We’ll keep you up to date on developments as we hear them.”

  The reporter’s eyes were sparkling with excitement as she signed off.

  Kidnapped! Maura clenched her fists to stop her fingers from trembling. Jon’s performance was sure to convince the press that the rumor was true. And that someone else was threatening her life. That rumor was being circulated to explain her eventual murder!

  Maura wasn’t aware of uttering a sound but Bronwyn swung around to look at her.

  “I’ve let you stay up too long,” she exclaimed. “You’re white as a ghost. Come on. Back to bed with you.”

  Maura allowed herself to be bustled into the bedroom. She lay there, coming to grips with this latest development and listening to Bronwyn make phone calls in the next room. The last was to Matt.

  “I can’t stay around this afternoon,” she said. “Jon Casen’s just withdrawn the injunction against VitaChem. The TV reporter said it had something to do with his fiancée being kidnapped. I don’t know if that’s true, but we can’t let them get away with this. I’m calling a meeting of the Millbridge GEL committee for seven o’clock at my house and I need the rest of the afternoon to get ready for it. Come, if you can get away.”

  Bronwyn was quiet for a moment while Matt spoke.

  “She’ll be fine. All she needs now is rest. I was going to cook a chicken for your dinner. Guess you’ll have to do it yourself or make a sandwich. Sorry to let you down.”

  She glanced at her watch. “All right, Matt, I’ll tell Reenie you’ll come in and get her supper about five o’clock.”

  By the time Bronwyn came into the bedroom, Maura had decided several things. First, Bronwyn hadn’t recognized her. Second, she couldn’t think of any place she could keep a lower profile. She could stay here for a few more days. Third, she was going to earn her keep.