No Harm (The Kate Teague Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  He smiled expectantly. “Kate?”

  There was a little crease across the hollow of his temple, and she remembered how it felt to kiss that place, soft and velvety against her lips. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms of hands, using the pain as a diversion. “Good night,” she said. “Don’t wait up. I’ll let myself in.”

  Dolph gently squeezed her arm. “It’s so hot tonight. Let’s talk in the next room. Cooler in there.”

  “If you like.” She walked along beside Dolph, across the room, and down the passage toward his study.

  Dolph didn’t say anything until they were out of earshot of the others. “Reece seemed out of sorts tonight. Not been drinking too much, has he?”

  Kate shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “After what happened to your father, I hate to see a man controlled by his drink.” He opened the study door. “After you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” She paused to look around. Even though Dolph’s study was a smaller version of the room now called “Grandpa’s study” in her own house, it seemed larger. Where Grandpa had used dark mahogany paneling and leather chairs to give an air of solidity to his private lair, Dolph had preferred thick, pale green carpet, cream-colored walls, gilt-framed watercolors. She could see Mina’s hand here, her unerring sense of line and color. Kate found it a very personal room, sexy even, the way Mina’s selections were so intimately geared to Dolph’s taste.

  Kate waded across the carpet and opened the French doors onto the terrace, filling the room with cool, salty-fishy air tinged with smoke from the brush fires. She listened for a moment to the pot-and-pan clatterings coming from the kitchen as Mina’s housekeeper finished the dinner dishes. Every sound was both carried and softened by the breaking of waves on the beach below the bluff.

  On the far side of the house, the front door closed, and she heard Carl and Helga in quiet conversation outside, the sound ebbing as they walked away from Dolph’s house. Then Mina was in the kitchen, giving quick instructions about putting away the silver. Kate relaxed against the doorframe, eavesdropping, finding comfort in the humdrum details of the household. So quiet and normal after all the uproar. A breeze ruffled her hair. She turned to Dolph. “What did Ishmael say about the draw of the sea? There is magic in it.’”

  “You remember that?” He eased into a print-covered wing-back chair, his legs propped on a matching ottoman. Chin resting on tented fingers, he smiled dreamily at Kate. “‘Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will lead you to water … as every one knows, water and meditation are wedded for ever.’”

  “When I was little, I always liked your little bits of wisdom from Moby-Dick, even when I missed the message.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re a good egg, Kate.”

  “So are you, Ishmael.”

  “Oh, no.” He wagged a finger at her. “I’m no Ishmael. I’ve always been happy to stay home, slogging through the dull routine. Your father was Ishmael, meant for a life of adventure.”

  “Not much of an adventurer,” Kate said. “He never went anywhere, except day-sails around the bay.”

  “And it killed him. That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you this afternoon.” He narrowed his eyes, the light of his pupils a tiny pin aimed at Kate. “Live your own life.”

  His warning brushed by her like the moths batting their wings against the light. She stepped into the open doorway and let the breeze envelop her. Talking about her father reminded her about the crack Reece had made, and it led her thinking about her mother’s death in a new direction. What if her father had left an illegitimate child behind?

  “Kate?” Dolph came and sat beside her on the low brick planter surrounding the terrace.

  She took his hand and held it. “Reece said something bizarre tonight.”

  Dolph sighed. “I can only imagine. That boy has a talent for stirring things up. What now?”

  “About the family bastard.”

  “Oh, dear God,” he laughed nervously. “Won’t we ever put that one to rest?”

  “Was there a child?”

  “Could be. At any rate there was a pregnant girl, Miles’s housekeeper.”

  “I’ve heard people whispering about Miles’s ‘bastard’ all my life. It was supposedly the reason his marriage to Susan broke up.”

  Dolph nodded. “That’s the way I understand it.”

  “Reece said the baby was my father’s.”

  “I wish sometimes Mina could let go of a juicy piece of gossip. That tidbit is more than forty years old. Remember now, it happened during the war and there were a lot a pregnant girls in town. Hell, the navy was bivouacked at the park down the boulevard.”

  “I only want to know about that one girl’s baby.”

  Dolph shrugged. “I wasn’t here at the time so I can’t tell you much. I was still in Europe with the adjutant general’s office, hanging war criminals. The story was two years old by the time I got back.”

  “Didn’t Mina write to you about it?”

  “Bits and pieces; most of that time she was away on some ambulance corps training program. Why is it important?”

  “The picture,” Kate said. “The bastard would have been roughly the same as as the child in the picture.”

  “I see.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. When he spoke again, the words fell in a rapid monotone, a lawyer giving a summary. “The way I understand the sequence of events, this young hired girl found herself pregnant and blamed Miles. He wanted to get a divorce and do the right thing by her. But Susan contested the action, and I suppose it was all taking too long, so the girl came back and claimed that, actually, it was your father who ‘seduced’ her. Took a lot of balls for a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl.”

  “Balls?”

  “Whatever. Dad filed a complaint with the Navy Department about the morals of their young men, paid the girl off, and sent her packing.”

  Kate was skeptical. “That’s it?”

  “As far as I know. By the time I got home from Europe it was all over. Your parents were married by then, and Miles and Susan had split up. Susan remarried shortly after.”

  “To Sy Ratcher’s father. That’s the old family tie Sy claims.” Kate stood up to pace the terrace. “Reece mentioned a claim on the estate made on behalf of the child.”

  “I vaguely remember something about that when we settled your father’s estate. Nothing came of it. It’s hard enough to make a paternity claim stick to a man when he’s alive. But after he’s dead?”

  “What if he tried again? If he, or she I suppose, could prove who his father was, would he have any legal claim to any part of the estate?”

  “Might.” Dolph shrugged, forcing a smile. “Depends on a variety of things. Of course, he’d have a better case if you were out of the picture.”

  “Thanks a lot.” She stopped pacing. “Very reassuring.”

  “What you’re looking for is a murder suspect outside the family, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” She leaned forward, closer to him. “Dammit, Dolph. The whole thing’s so maddening. Will you help me find the bastard?”

  “I can try.” He didn’t sound encouraging. “I can dig up the old files, see if there’s anything there.”

  “Mina would probably help.”

  Dolph let out a slow puff of air. “How much could you trust what she told you?”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  He reached for her hand and held it tightly. “Personally, I think this idea is for the birds. Otherwise, I’d be talking to the police. But just in case I’m wrong, you be careful.”

  “What has being careful ever got me?” She kissed his cheek. “You look tired. I’m going home.”

  “Would you mind checking on Miles on your way?”

  “Sure. Good night.” She waited at the edge of the terrace until she heard the study door click shut behind
Dolph, leaving her in a checker of light from the windows. Eyes down, intent on the uneven surface in the dark, she crossed the lawn to the brick path. Glancing up once, she saw the triangle of light showing at the edge of the drapes where Miles stood, as always, watching the courtyard until someone came to check on him, to make sure he took his anticonvulsion medicine.

  Her sandals made a racket on the path. She slipped them off and tossed them onto the front steps of her house as she passed. The damp bricks felt cool on her feet, still tender from walking in hot sand that afternoon.

  Halfway across the courtyard, Kate waved toward Miles’s window. The gap of light disappeared as the drapes swayed heavily into place. She knew he would head for the front door. Without knocking, she waited at the door until she heard him release the dead bolt. It was a gesture of trust; he rarely actually opened the door after dark.

  “Uncle Miles?” She put her palm against the smooth, polished wood, imagining his hands pressed against the other side, wishing she could make closer contact. “It’s late. Are you ready for bed?”

  There was a reedy little cough. “Pretty soon, I think.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “A little dizzy, dear.”

  “Did you take your medication?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Did it make you feel sick?”

  “No, dear. Just a little dizzy.”

  “Shall I come in and call Dr. Janss?”

  “No, dear. It’s not worth disturbing him for. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

  “Do you feel dizzy like before a seizure?”

  “No, no.” There was a thin laugh. “More like hot sun and pink gin.”

  She hesitated. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, dear. Good-night.”

  “I’ll be out here for a while, walking. If you feel any worse, turn on the front light and I’ll come back.”

  His only response was to shoot the bolt home and flick off the light overhead.

  Kate felt sleepy, ready to go inside. But she wanted to give Miles time to get into bed, to make sure he was all right. She debated with herself about calling Dr. Janss anyway, and didn’t only out of respect for Miles’s right still to make that decision. She yawned and stretched, then walked slowly toward the bluff, trying to muddle through the events of the last few days.

  Lights were on in two of the upstairs bedrooms of her house. Occasionally she could see shadows as Carl and Helga moved about inside. Their movements seemed so private, exclusive to a family that wasn’t hers anymore, it was more comfortable to be outside until they were settled.

  A stiff offshore breeze cut paths through the smoky pall overhead, revealing a few pale stars. Trying to relax, Kate concentrated on the sounds of the night: ships moving into the harbor, palms and cypresses stirring in the wind, the muffled throb of traffic on the boulevard. She paused at the edge of the bluff to rest against the railing, enjoying the cool and solitude.

  The light in Helga’s room went out, and the lawn seemed darker. Kate straightened and stretched and then walked along the bluff, skirting the lath gazebo, looking like black lace in the dark, until she reached the beach stairs.

  The top of the stairs gaped like a giant black maw leading to the dark beach below. Only the phosphorescent plankton caught by the breakers defined sand from water. A long green roll formed, then disappeared, ending with a muted plash.

  Kate went down the stairs to the first landing, ten feet below the edge of the bluff. Leaning against the bannister, she could see the hills, dully lit in patches by faint orange fire-glow in the moonless night. The ocean end of the hills narrowed into a wedge that disappeared into the black water.

  Kate turned around and looked up to see if Miles had turned on his front light. But there was only dark around his house. She decided he was probably already in bed, and she relaxed. She stood there in the dark for a while, lost in thought about her conversation with Dolph.

  Something disturbed the ice plant beside the stairs, but it took a moment for her to react. She heard it again, a little closer, like some animal shifting in the sparse growth. With a sharp chink, something cracked against the wood banister a few inches from her, shooting sharp splinters into her bare arm. Instinctively, she grabbed her arm where it stung and pivoted around to look up at the dark bluff for the source of the projectile. She saw nothing but the vague outlines of the houses.

  “Stop it,” she screamed up toward the bluff at whoever had to be there. “I’m down here.”

  A marble-sized rock smashed into her cheek, sending fingers of pain through her eye socket and over the top of her head.

  “Hey! Knock it off!” she yelled, but the rain of stones intensified. Arms shielding her head, she dove for the banister, intending to climb over it to find shelter under the stairs. At that off-balance moment, something the size of a fist smashed into the point of her shoulder, sending her backward over the edge of the landing. Then she was airborne, sailing into the blackness below.

  The steps rose, ghostlike, in front of her as she fell toward them. The edge of a riser caught her hard on the ribs and she began tumbling headlong down the stairs, striking first her face then her knees as she tried to reach through the darkness for something to grab onto. She clutched at a baluster and missed it painfully, filling her hands with splinters from the old wood.

  Again she reached, catching a corner support in both hands. The weight of her body, still rolling through its frightful somersault, pulled against her grip, wrenching her shoulders until she thought her arms would be torn from their sockets. But she held on until she was lying still, curled up on a riser, holding onto the peeling support as a child clutches a favorite blanket.

  The horrible sounds of her body crashing against wood still filled her head. She lay there for what seemed a long time, knees drawn up to her chest, unwilling to explore the extent of her injuries. There was no awareness of pain until cool hands gripped her wrists, trying to pull her free. Kate held on desperately, too frightened to scream.

  “Hija, it is all right. Let go.” Esperanza pulled Kate against her soft bosom and rocked her, cooing the same unintelligible words she had used when Kate was a baby. She turned on a flashlight and ran its beam along Kate’s body. “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate sobbed. She didn’t want to move to find out.

  “I heard you yelling like you were being attacked.” Esperanza stroked Kate’s back. “You stay here while I get someone to help.”

  “No.” Kate held on to her. “Just help me up, please.”

  “Slowly, hija.”

  Kate unfolded her legs, feeling the torn skin and bloodied knots. Every bony point of her body throbbed painfully.

  “No broken bones, hey?” Esperanza smiled bravely into Kate’s face. “But you will have a shiner. You’re a grown-up lady and still you fall and get a black eye.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what you always said. You should be more careful.”

  Kate managed to stand up. “Esperanza, I didn’t fall. Someone tried to kill me.”

  FOUR

  “NICE SHINER, KATE.”

  “Thanks.” Kate moved her feet out of the way as Lydia, her office mate, trailed coffee into their tiny shared cubicle in the history department’s office wing.

  Lydia lounged with athletic elegance against an institutional gray filing cabinet. She brushed her pale brown hair away from her face, green eyes sparkling. “I hear Carl has moved back in.”

  “Yeah. But I got this walking into a door.”

  “Really?”

  “No. But I didn’t get it from Carl, either.”

  Lydia looked down into her coffee cup, and Kate wondered what made her seem so hesitant. “Look, Kate, I’m sorry I wasn’t at your mom’s funeral yesterday. I wouldn’t have been any help to you. I’m always such a mess at funerals.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I did miss you at Mina’s little dinner last night, though. So did Reece.”

  “So
are you going to tell me what happened to you? You look like you were in a wreck.”

  “Professor Teague?” A girl hesitated in the open doorway. When Kate glanced around, the girl got a look at Kate’s black eye and abrasions. Her mouth dropped open in a silent “ahh.”

  Lydia plunked down her cup, annoyed by the interruption. “So it begins.”

  Kate studied the interloper for a moment, not immediately recognizing the face framed by flame-colored spikes of hair tipped in turquoise to match her eye shadow. Then she brightened with recognition; during the spring semester the girl’d had a black Mohawk. Despite appearances, she was a serious enough student. “Hi, Lisa. Have a good summer?”

  “It was okay.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to register for your Tuesday-Thursday Western Civ. But it’s full.”

  “Is it?” Kate shuffled through the litter on her desk until she found the appropriate enrollment sheet. “You’re right. There are fifteen on the waiting list already, but you can sign it.”

  “Registration is such a rip-off.” Lisa looked dejected. “All the good classes are already taken.”

  “No they’re not,” Lydia interjected. “I have lots of room in History of Third World Industrial Economies. And I have two slots on the women’s volleyball team.”

  “Oh.” Lisa looked doubtful. “What I really came to say was, I read about your murder, I mean your mother.” She blanched. Before she could recover, down the hall the elevator door whooshed shut and immediately the passage outside the office was filled with a racket something like a combination hailstorm and earthquake. Three young behemoths in football cleats and cut-off jerseys pressed into the office around Lisa, impelling her farther into the already cramped room like a bit of chaff before a wind.