Midsummer Night's Mischief Page 15

  And speculating. When it came down to it, I knew more about Wes’s family from Sharon and Eleanor than I did about Wes. I mean, I definitely had good vibes around him. He seemed kind and intelligent. But there was so much more that I didn’t know. Who knew what secrets might be lurking beneath the attractive exterior?

  I gave Wes a sidelong glance and thought back to the night before at the casino. What was Wes doing there, anyway? I had the impression he wasn’t hanging out on the riverboat for fun. For all I knew, Rob wasn’t the only one with a gambling problem. Maybe it even ran in the family, starting way back with Grandpa Frank’s Saturday night poker games.

  As a matter of fact, if Wes was living in a bar, he must be hard up for money.

  After a while, the roadside cornfields gave way to thickening stands of trees, and I realized we must be near the state conservation area surrounding Diamond Point Lake. One wooden sign pointed the way to Briar Creek Cabins a mile west, while others advertised boat rentals and pick-your-own strawberry patches to the east. Straight ahead the land became hilly, and another road sign told us there was hiking, camping, and fishing not too far off.

  But Wes didn’t follow any of those signs. Instead, he slowed the car and turned into a narrow unmarked lane, nearly hidden from the road. We bounced along under the overhanging trees for several minutes, until he pulled off the lane and into a small hidden clearing. It would have been easy to miss if you didn’t already know it was there.

  “There’s a nice picnic spot near here,” he said, cutting the engine. He opened his door and exited the car. I stepped out on my side and looked around. There was nothing but trees in all directions. A crow called from high overhead, and then it was quiet. It was peaceful . . . and secluded.

  I looked back to see that Wes had gone around to open the trunk. I thought maybe he had a blanket back there, but he pulled out a black duffel bag, shut the trunk, and set the bag on top. I stayed by the open car door, keeping my eye on Wes as he unzipped the bag and fiddled with something inside. Our lunch was on the backseat. So, what was he messing with in the duffel bag?

  Under the shadows, the air was cooler and very still. I could feel goose bumps rise on my arms as it suddenly struck me how this scenario might look to an outsider. Girl meets boy. Girl falls for boy and goes off with him to a remote spot deep in the dark, lonely woods. Boy turns out to be . . . What? A crazed killer? No way. Wes wasn’t dangerous.

  Still, here we were, all alone. Not a soul around. There was no place to run, even if I wanted to. No one to hear me scream.

  I swallowed hard and licked my dry lips. “Um, whatcha doing?” I asked, trying to sound calmer than I felt.

  He looked up with a strange expression. “I finally have my chance,” he said.

  “Chance?” I echoed. I impulsively glanced into the car, hoping to find the keys still in the ignition, but he had taken them with him. I looked back at Wes, who stared at me with an inscrutable expression. My heart started thudding madly as Wes slowly began to raise his arm.

  “A chance to shoot you.”

  I gasped sharply and stepped backward, stumbling over a fallen branch. Adrenaline surged as I prepared to fly off into the woods. Wes walked around the car toward me, and I let out a constricted squeak as he lifted his hand . . . and showed me the camera he held.

  “What’s the matter? Camera shy?”

  He walked over to me, hanging the professional-looking camera on a strap across his chest. I exhaled heavily and slumped against the car. Trying not to let on that I’d just suspected him of wanting to attack me, I faked a small laugh. “Why would you want to take pictures of me?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re gorgeous. The camera will love you. Come on.”

  He headed into the trees, and I hesitated for a moment, looking after him. Then I shook myself, letting go of the residual fear. See? I told myself. I had been right all along. I should have listened to my instincts, which had liked Wes from the get-go. Taking a deep breath, I followed him down the path.

  Before long, a bubbling creek came into view. As I got closer, I saw that it led to a meandering river lined by sycamores, elms, and white oaks. Wes walked over to a large flat rock and crouched down to photograph delicate flowering spikes of blue vervain on the water’s edge.

  “What a lovely place,” I murmured, gazing at the river and the birds soaring and dipping.

  I joined him on the rock and slipped off my sandals. Dangling my feet in the water, I took in the serenity of the scene and idly reached down to break off a sprig of the blue vervain. I knew it could be useful for its healing properties. Nearby, a pair of ducks bobbed for food, while a slender damselfly flitted from leaf to leaf. I tilted my face to the sun and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling so much calmer than before. When I opened them, I saw Wes looking at me. He smiled and, without a word, crouched down and aimed his camera at me.

  “So, you’re a photographer, huh?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Uh-uh. I thought you were a musician, actually.”

  Wes grinned at that. “I’m not that cool,” he said.

  He took a few shots, then sat down next to me. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and I suddenly longed to touch him. Imagined touching him. But I quickly checked myself, mentally shaking my head. I must be crazy. The relief at feeling safe again must be lowering my inhibitions.

  I snuck another peek at Wes’s profile, trying to figure him out. One thing I knew for sure, I really did like him. But I didn’t know for sure how he felt about me.

  More importantly, I couldn’t forget he was a suspect. Even if he wasn’t dangerous, he could still be a thief. I should be questioning him about where he was the night of the robbery.

  “Wes?”

  “Yeah?” he said, turning toward me.

  “We forgot our lunch in the car.”

  A slow grin crept over his face as his eyes moved from my eyes down to my mouth and back. “You know,” he said tentatively, “there’s actually something I’d like to do more than eat right about now.”

  “Oh?” Be still, my heart. Without thinking, I looked at his lips, too, and leaned toward him ever so slightly.

  Apparently, that was enough of an opening for him. He leaned in, angled his head, and brought his lips slowly, gently, to mine.

  Part of me was startled. The other part felt completely at ease.

  I kissed him in return, feeling myself dissolve into his lips. He pulled back, looked into my eyes for confirmation and, seeing it, kissed me again. With eyes closed, I let myself surrender to the moment.

  I guessed this answered the question as to how he felt about me.

  Wes brought a hand behind my neck, and I found myself encircling his broad shoulders with my arms. I ran my fingers through his thick hair as we kissed, our bodies inching closer and closer together. All rational thought left my mind as I allowed him to ease me back onto the rock.

  “Whoot, whoot! Yeah, baby!”

  Wes lifted his head, and I looked over his shoulder to see a couple of kayakers not fifteen feet away. They laughed, and one lifted his camera phone to take a picture. Wes, apparently inclined to ignore them, turned back to resume his position. But I sat up and put my hand like a visor over my face to hide from the would-be paparazzi.

  Wes grunted and sat back on his haunches. “Guess this place isn’t as private as I thought.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Have you—” I stopped myself before asking if he had been here at make-out point before. I knew I had no standing for jealousy, and besides, that was so beside the point right now. Actually, I was grateful for the interruption.

  Okay, not all of me was grateful. Just the sane part.

  “Should we get our lunch?” I suggested.

  “Yeah. Sure.” Wes stood up, looking embarrassed now.

  Without further conversation, we found the path back to the car. My body still tingled, and I sort of hoped Wes would reach out to hold my hand. He didn’t, but w
e did walk close to one another, our arms brushing now and then.

  When we reached the car, he pulled out his phone to check the time. “It’s getting kinda late,” he said. “It’s after five. Mind if we eat as we drive?”

  I shook my head and got in the car. I unwrapped our food as Wes maneuvered the car out of the forest. Back on the main road, we continued toward the farm in a more companionable quietness. Locking lips had a way of bringing people closer together.

  “You know,” I said thoughtfully, watching the countryside, “I think this is the area where my aunt lived years ago.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he said.

  “Yeah. On a commune, believe it or not. It was in the seventies.” I looked at Wes, waiting for his reaction.

  He raised his eyebrows and glanced my way. “That’s cool,” he said. “What kind of commune? Like an artists’ colony or something?”

  “I actually don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s kind of a sore subject in my family. My aunt was only seventeen when she left, against my grandparents’ wishes. She basically cut ties with them, never went back. She’d send a postcard every few years, letting them know she was still alive, but that was it. As far as I know, nobody knows where she is now.”

  “Wow,” said Wes. “That’s deep.”

  “To tell you the truth,” I said, feeling comfortable enough with Wes to open up a little, “she’s part of the reason I chose Edindale for law school. Although I never met her, I’ve always felt a special sort of connection with Aunt Josephine. I admire her renegade spirit. Plus, our birthdays are in the same week, exactly thirty years apart. She even sent a couple of postcards to me, one on my tenth birthday and one on my twentieth.”

  Wes smiled softly. “Well, I’m grateful to your aunt, then,” he said. “If you hadn’t come to Edindale, then I never would’ve gotten to meet you.”

  Awww.Myheartmelted, and I almost leaned over and kissed Wes again right there in the car. He was like a shot of butterscotch schnapps: hot, sweet, and apt to make me feel a little bit giddy.

  Wes slowed the car, turned into a gravel lane, and picked up our conversation. “I can kind of relate to the connection you have with your aunt,” he said. “I feel the same way about my uncle Kirk. He was kind of the black sheep, too, and ran off to New York after high school to be a stage actor. I always looked up to him as a kid, even though he probably wasn’t the best role model.” Wes chuckled to himself but didn’t elaborate.

  “I met him at the visitation,” I said. “He seemed really nice. And funny too.”

  “Yeah, that’s Kirk. Always lightening the mood, no matter what. He’s had an unlucky streak this past year—laid off from his day job right after the local theater he was involved in shuttered its doors. But it hasn’t seemed to bring him down, at least not that I’ve seen.”

  I remembered what Sharon had told me about Kirk’s “pride for Shakespeare” and about how he didn’t want his mom to sell the Folio. And that was in spite of the fact that he probably could have really used the money.

  Of course, the money split among multiple family members—not to mention all the other beneficiaries Eleanor had had in mind—would have amounted to a lot less than the full jackpot for each. Whoever had the Folio now wouldn’t have to share.

  Wes left the gravel lane, such as it was, and steered the car down a dusty driveway that cut through expansive fields of wheat to our left and corn to our right. We slowed to a stop where the driveway ended, in a small grove of trees next to the foundation remains of what I guessed was an old farmhouse.

  “Welcome to the Mostriak homestead,” said Wes, opening his door. I got out, too, and followed him to the edge of the crumbling, weedy foundation.

  “So, this was your grandpa Frank’s home?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He grew up out here. Him and his six brothers and sisters. He lived out here with his family pretty much until he met my grandma. After that, he got a job and a house in town, and they got married.”

  “It’s peaceful out here,” I remarked.

  We wandered around the old yard. Wes snapped a few photos, taking advantage of the soft late afternoon light. We peeked in an old barn, which contained a tractor and other tools used by the farmer who managed the land. Then Wes showed me the place where the other barn had burned down.

  “Do you know if that fire was ever investigated at the time?” I asked.

  “Nah. No one was hurt, and my grandpa’s family never asked for an investigation. At least I don’t think so. Maybe they figured there wouldn’t be any proof. I don’t really know.”

  “But the story was that the Folio was destroyed in the fire?”

  “Yeah. I mean, there were never any details about that part of the story. Grandpa talked about owning the Folio once. And then it was lost in a fire.”

  “Yet your grandpa really had it all along. Kept it hidden over the years.”

  “Yeah. It would appear that he did.”

  I thought about this as my eyes followed a brilliant dragonfly zipping through the air. We stood by an old three-board corral fence overlooking a meadow of native grasses and wildflowers.

  “I wonder if he thought of it as some kind of grand inside joke,” I mused. “You know? Maybe that’s what he meant by that line of Shakespeare he liked to say. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be.’”

  Wes looked at me curiously. “How did you know about that?”

  Uh-oh. I hadn’t really thought this through. I hesitated a second. “From Rob,” I said in my most innocent-sounding voice. I hoped he would let it go. He didn’t.

  “Rob? When did you see Rob? Where did you see Rob?”

  “Um, I don’t know. The other day.”

  Wes blinked, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind. “You saw that wooden carving he has. You were at his apartment?”

  “Well, yeah. I stopped by, because . . . I was in the neighborhood.”

  Okay, that sounded lame. But I was afraid the truth would sound even worse. How could I tell Wes I had really been trying to track him down . . . because my boss was worried about the law firm’s reputation and I was worried about keeping my job?

  Wes looked at me for a moment, then looked away. “We better go,” he said, swatting his arm. “The mosquitoes are starting to come out.”

  CHAPTER 17

  It felt weird not to go to work on Monday morning. I spent much of the day moping about the house, fretting over my job situation. Was my work piling up? Would I even have any clients left when I went back? If I went back?

  That is, I fretted over my job when I wasn’t obsessing over Wes. I kept going back to our . . . interlude on the rock by the creek. It was such a perfect moment. The setting serene, the passion spontaneous and red hot. Even though we were interrupted, I felt like it could be the start of something promising.

  But then I thought about how much of a bust the date had actually been. I hadn’t learned a thing. I didn’t know anything new about Wes—nothing about his photography, what had taken him to New York and what had brought him back, how and when he’d chosen his tattoo . . . if he had any more. If he’d been in any serious relationships.

  If he knew where the Folio was.

  And then there’d been that awkward moment when Wes found out I had gone over to Rob’s place. I didn’t know if his reaction was due to some jealous sibling rivalry over me or to the rift already between them. Either way, the ride back to town had been much like the ride before, except the music had been even louder—which had allowed for even less talk.

  Around lunchtime, Farrah called me for details about my date, and I pretty much told her everything. She laughed about my momentary panic in the woods. “Really? You thought the hottie had a gun?”

  “Well, I was already a little on edge,” I said defensively. “I just wish I knew for sure he didn’t take the Folio. I wish he had an alibi for that night.”

  “Mmm.” I could imagine Farrah frowning on the other end of the line. “Maybe you should hold of
f on dating any of the suspects for a little while. I don’t want to see you get hurt. If you get too tight with Wes, and it turns out he was involved . . .”

  I knew what she meant. Unfortunately, it was too late to follow her advice. I was already in too deep with Wes.

  “How are we going to catch the thief, Farrah? I’m not really sure what to do next.”

  “Well, it seems to me we need to keep watching the family, right? Especially the male members. I’ll see what I can dig up on Uncle Kirk. I find it interesting, what you told me about his possible sentimental attachment to the Folio.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, sighing. This was all starting to feel a little Machiavellian, the way I was getting closer to the family at the same time I was investigating them.

  “And maybe you can learn more about Rob through Jeremy,” Farrah went on. “Just ask Jeremy out for a drink at the Loose. But be sure to bring up the gambling boat before y’all hit the dance floor.” Farrah laughed, but I wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding.

  Lord. I still cringed whenever I thought about my poor judgment in getting drunk with Jeremy. It was especially regrettable now that I knew he had a girlfriend—and that she had turned to me for help. Stacey had called this morning to check on my progress. I had told her all about the River Queen and how Jeremy was apparently spending his evenings gambling. But Stacey hadn’t been satisfied. When I’d told her I actually saw him for only a couple of minutes, she’d said it was still possible he was meeting someone there.

  Talk about suspicious minds.

  So, I was still on the case, though I wasn’t sure what I would do next on that front, either.