The Summer Place

By Faye Westlake Newman

Ex-cop Diana Parrish, running in terror from a homicidal spouse, stops long enough to testify in Grand Jury against him. Disdaining Witsec, she runs instead into the depths of an Oregon rainforest. There, she stays in a tiny community accessible only by boat, with few amenities, and food grown or brought in by the mail boat.

With a new identity, her old off -duty weapon, and the dog mailed to her by her godfather, Quinn moves into a long abandoned house, aft er removing the briars that buried it, with the help of Potsy, who runs the mail boat. It doesnt take long to learn that nearly all the residents, including Potsy, have secrets of their own.

Has Diana, now Quinn Summer, fled a snake den in Arizona, to take refuge in nest of alligators in Oregon?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543411751

Faye Westlake Newman

Faye Newman is a free-lance writer and novelist living on the Southwest coast of Oregon, in the United States. She is passionate about her family, furry creatures, especially horses, and the beautiful, diverse state of Oregon, and all of these appear in various disguises(or not) appear in her books.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Diana

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change.

Only those who leave behind everything

they have ever believed in can hope to escape.

~William S Burroughs

Diana Parrish Chambers parallel parked the Beamer on the street at the bank’s front door, putting events of the previous evening behind her. She refreshed her lipstick, dropped the tube in her bag, and stepped out of the car. Without conscious thought, she smoothed her skirt, fluffed her hair, and stepped to the curb. Two-inch heels clacked on the sidewalk. Early as it was, heat reflected from the sidewalk and warmed the soles of her shoes.

Albuquerque First Bank had been open less than an hour and already sweat felt clammy on her spine. Air conditioning hit her like a wind from the arctic as she went through the bank’s glass doors.

Once there, she walked with purpose to a new accounts desk, avoiding teller lines.

Hi, Robert, she said to the man there. "I need to open a new account.

Of course, Mrs. Chambers, he said. Fifteen minutes later, her business completed, Diana left the bank, noting that Robert was reaching for the telephone, his forehead creased in a frown. Diana smiled. Too late, Robert, it’s all a done deal. Everything.

She counted to ten before the cell phone on the car’s dash rang. Speaking the command, she sent it to voice mail. If she’d wanted to answer Garret’s call, she had no time. David Browning, Bernalillo County Assistant District Attorney, was waiting for her. She pulled into courthouse parking, the last place Garret would think to look for her, and parked between two club cab pickups. The car would be invisible except directly from the rear. The front faced a wall. She stepped out and hurried to an entrance in the circular building flanked by multiple story wings, hurrying as much to keep her feet from feeling the hot pavement as to get out of sight quickly. She had forgotten how thin these shoe soles were.

Browning was behind his desk on the phone. Never mind, he said. She’s here. He hung up the phone. You had me worried.

I said I’d be here.

You didn’t mention you’d be sporting that magnificent bruise your makeup doesn’t quite cover.

Diana reached manicured, painted nails to her cheek. Yes, well, that wasn’t on the agenda.

With just a wee bit of luck, it will be the last one you ever have. Are you all right?

I am better than all right. When I’ve finished testifying, I’ll be on my way out of this Godforsaken town, and out of New Mexico.

You understand this is only grand jury, and you have to be back here for trial, eventually.

Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss the best part. I am ready and delighted to see the son of a bitch in prison, if only for what he’s done to me.

Unfortunately, that isn’t enough to keep him there. We need to get him for bribery, malfeasance in public office, and last, but not least, murder. Then none of us has to worry about him again.

Diana lost her smile, thinking of the accountant who was the cause of the last charge. He’d been a nice guy with a great smile and an uplifting greeting every time she’d seen him in her husband’s office. Until he wasn’t.

You effing bitch, Garret had said to her the previous night. I told you not to call that plumber again.

Garret, you weren’t available, and the water heater was leaking all over the floor. I knew you’d want it fixed immediately. Garret’s back was turned, not a good sign. He always turned his back before his rage exploded into action. If she hadn’t known him better, she might have thought he was trying to control his temper.

Are you going to stand there and tell me he’s the only plumber in Albuquerque?

Of course not. He’s the only one I know. She hated the pleading note in her voice. Why plead, when it did no good? Nothing she did was worth the effort. If he was going to blow, he would, no matter what she said.

He turned suddenly, without warning, and the back of his ham-sized hand hit the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. Fighting tears and pain, she tried to get up.

Stay where you are.

Oh, God. He had a gun in his hand. She stayed, reclining on her elbows. A trickle of blood traced its way down her left leg. She must have hit the edge of the coffee table on her way down.

Garret sat in the recliner facing her, the gun held loosely in his hand. If he killed her, it would not be his first killing. She lay still, holding her breath.

You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? She had long since discovered that he took a prurient interest in hearing about her past partners.

She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. Which would he rather hear?

No. Not yet. We—we haven’t done anything.

What? You’re planning on it? Good. Curiosity had distracted him for a moment. If she could just figure out how to get close to that gun without getting shot. Big as he was, he wasn’t trained. She was. She sat up and bent her knees so she could get on her feet quickly.

Ah, he said, his tone sharp and commanding. Don’t you dare try to come any closer, you dirty whore. I’ll put a bullet between your beautiful eyes. Don’t think for a minute I won’t. He gripped the revolver firmly and pointed it at her face.

David Browning’s voice brought her out of the nightmare that was her marriage. Diana? Diana? Are you with me?

I’m sorry, David. I was just …

It’s all right. You don’t have to explain. Let’s go in there and take the bastard down.

I need to stop in the ladies, first, if you don’t mind.

Of course. No one’s doing anything without me. He stopped at the door to the restroom. She knew he would be there when she came out. He was very solicitous of his chief witness against the corrupt man he’d been chasing for two years before Diana approached him. Diana left the stall and looked in the mirror. He was right. The bruise left by Garret’s backhand covered half her face and makeup didn’t cover it. She patted powder over it and sighed. It just had to show. The good thing was, there was no longer a need to look good for Garret, was there? All it hurt was her dignity. Her pride.

How could she have tolerated his outbursts, his demand that she never appear, in public or private, any way except perfectly groomed and looking like a lady? Why had she let him burn every pair of jeans she owned, every pair of flip-flops, sneakers, hiking shoes? Her mucking boots were hidden in the barn.

She dabbed at a tear with a square of tissue, and left the bathroom.

Better. David nodded with approval. It’s barely visible now.

I don’t care anymore. If Garret doesn’t want his wife to appear with bruises, he should keep his hands to himself.

You don’t have to worry about that anymore, he said. Ever.

How long before we go to trial?

Probably next spring.

Almost a year. Three seasons, back home. Nine months. As long as it would have taken to have her baby.

Chapter 2

Run

"Running away was easy;

not knowing what to do next was the hard part."

~Glenda Millard

Diana was David Browning’s star witness. He would address the grand jury and ask for a true bill, meaning the jury agreed there was enough evidence to proceed with warrants, arrests, and searches through bank records. Diana had minutes to make her escape. This would be her only chance before she was in the custody of Federal Marshals and transported to their notion of a good place for her to start over. Some place Garret could never find her. Some place she’d be safe from all his cronies.

She pressed a button on her phone. When someone answered, she said, I’m ready, and hung up. She stepped out of the courtroom, removed her shoes, and found the rear stairs she had scouted out on another visit.

She dashed downstairs to a back exit, opened the door, and stepped out. A taxi pulled up at the door. In shade, she felt no discomfort on her feet.

Thank you, she murmured, and checked the business card he had given her to be sure of his name. Please hurry, Pete.

Where to?

Get away from the courthouse, fast. East.

You bet. She saw him glance in the mirror, and she touched her cheek. For once, bearing a massive bruise might do some good.

I don’t want him to find me, she murmured. She opened the small carry-on bag on the floor of the back seat, checking that its contents were the same as when she’d given it to Pete three days before. She slipped into the sneakers she found there. Among other things, it contained an untraceable pre-paid cell phone, and a large sum of money.

Don’t worry, he responded. Just let me know where. No one will know I saw you. His tone grated, and she met his eyes in the mirror. Tell me who he is, and I’ll see he’s taken care of.

Thank you, but no. I think I just did that.

Restraining order? Ain’t worth the powder to blow them to hell.

He’s going to jail.

Out in thirty days. I know people. I can make it last.

I appreciate that. Take me to the Hyatt Regency. I’ll be fine from there. She checked in her purse to make sure that the money she had received from the bank was there.

When he dropped her, she withdrew a $50 bill for him.

I don’t have change, he said.

Thank you, Pete. Keep the change. I owe you. And tell no one.

No worries.

In a seventh-floor room reserved in a false name, she removed her blond wig and tossed it in the carry-on. She scrubbed her face, revealing the light dusting of freckles Garret hated, and combed the short, dark hair she had dyed back to its natural shade the day before.

Garret hadn’t noticed the wig while she stared down the barrel of his .357 Smith & Wesson Magnum all night, trying desperately to stay alive for one more day. He knew she owned the hairpiece. He’d ordered her to buy it for backup on those days when she couldn’t keep her hair looking decent. If he had noticed, she’d have shrugged it off with a bad hair day comment. He would not have questioned that. And they hadn’t had a relationship close enough for him to run his fingers through her hair in months.

Next, she dressed in jeans, tee, and sandals she had bought used for the occasion and brought with her in the carry-on bag. Downstairs, she bought a scarf and a book at the gift shop, wrapped the scarf around her neck and shoulders, and sat down in the lobby. From there, she could see the front entrance and the driveway where the airport shuttle would stop.

When it arrived, she hopped aboard. At the airport, she walked to the rental car counter and gave false identification in the name Marianne Wilson, which she had used at the hotel, and rented a car. Then she reviewed. Courthouse, cab driver, hotel, airport shuttle, rental car. It would take time for Garret or the marshals to trace her movements, if ever.

Wishing she could relax after the stress of the morning, she switched on the car radio, listening for news of the grand jury’s findings, not really expecting to hear it yet. She must have gotten national news, because the word Oregon caught her attention, and she stopped searching to listen. It was nothing. A weather report for the Pacific Northwest, forecasting a storm brought in by El Nino, but a few clear, sunny days first. The good news was that California would get the brunt of it, and storm warnings were being issued there already. She waited through a commercial, listened for more. A refugee being vetted had reported that a man she’d seen and identified was a member of a terrorist organization. Police were on the lookout for him and believed him headed for Oregon. Diana thought Republicans would jump on that one. She was sick of hearing anti-refugee rhetoric. She changed the station, listening for anything from Albuquerque.

She drove back to the hotel and picked up her belongings. Next stop: Santa Fe. Once again, she was doubling back, going the opposite direction. If Garret searched for her, he would be looking on all direct routes from Albuquerque to Oregon. He knew she would go home, and he’d be looking for her there, and all points in between. He was right, but she knew how to elude him. She wasn’t an ex-cop for nothing. Now, she was grateful for the intuition and anger that had kept her from ever telling him that. The marshals most likely wouldn’t search outside Albuquerque. She had never mentioned home to David Browning, or to anyone else in the legal system. She had not signed the WitSec papers, so she was not legally a witness under their protection. It wouldn’t have occurred to David that she would run. Prosecuting Garret had been her goal, too.

In Santa Fe, she stopped to eat, then located a big box store that carried Internet-capable computer tablets and bought two, a mailing envelope, and a cheap phone. Once settled, she’d find a way to get a laptop. She signed into a generic e-mail account that Garret knew nothing about, and sent David a message promising to return to testify. David could trace the message, but she guessed he wouldn’t. He would accept her word.

Garret might, if he did a thorough enough search of her home computer. Filling up at a service station, she tossed the tablet she’d used into the bed of a pickup with a Texas license plate, to be rid of its GPS tracking. Addressing the envelope to David, she sealed her cell phone inside and dropped the package in the mail on her way out of town. David would find a few interesting tidbits on the phone, including recordings of a couple of Garret’s conversations.

Her last stop in Santa Fe was at a used car lot, where she paid cash for a nondescript Chevy and gave a different false name, address, and license number. She paid $100 to the salesman to return the rental car to Tucson’s branch of the company, and asked where she might buy insurance. She did that, and then left town, driving north to Reno. She spent the night at a presentable, but modest, motel, and ate the motel’s breakfast. Then she was back on the road, headed west. In San Francisco, she used the cheap phone to call home.

Dad?

Diana, are you okay?

I am. He’s already been there?

No. Someone who works for him came. They said you were missing, and he thought you were kidnapped.

I’m not. But I have to hide. He’ll tap your phone.

Can he do that?

Dad, you have no idea. The reason he didn’t come himself is he’s probably in jail. But he has unlimited resources. I can’t come home. And you need to be watchful.

Do you remember where we vacationed when you were little?

Yes. More or less.

Check in with Aunt Leah.

Diana had no aunts or uncles. Leah. John’s late wife had been named Leah. John was a family friend and her parents’ attorney. Why? Did he know where their secret vacation place was? Her dad had a reason for saying that, so she would see John. Besides, she was fond of John.

OK. Dad, I love you. Kisses to Mom. Goodbye.

Be careful, honey.

John had retired several years ago. He no longer had an office. Garret would not know of him. And he lived in Ashland now, not Eugene.

Diana had been on the phone with her father for no more than two minutes. If his line was tapped, they would know she had called. They would not have been able to trace it.

Suddenly, it came to her: Templeton! Her dad knew all about her eidetic memory. It was fading now, as it often does in adults, but there were flashes that came to her in odd moments. Her father had counted on her to remember the name of the place where they had last vacationed the year before she started school, when she was five years old. She could find Templeton on a map. But that could wait until she saw John, before Garret’s people found out about him. She scurried back to the car and found another used car lot, where she bought another non-descript car—a six-year-old Ford sedan, newer this time, with a California plate, and insured it. Then she back-tracked again, to the highway north from Reno to I-5 toward Ashland. In Klamath Falls, she checked into a motel, signed onto the Internet from the tablet, and brought up Albuquerque news. There was nothing about warrants served or arrests, not yet.

If Diana Parrish Chambers had been reported missing, that fact had not made the news, either. The Beamer had been reported stolen. Good thinking, Garret. Police won’t take a missing person report for 72 hours, but they’d take a stolen auto report immediately. So, a BOLO—Be On the Look Out—was out for her BMW. It would start in the immediate vicinity, then spread to nearby states. They’d be looking in Nevada, Arizona, California, and Texas by now. Not Oregon, unless Garret could think of a way to suggest it without mentioning that his wife was from Oregon. That would tell the police that he was using a stolen vehicle report to locate his wife, who had every right to drive the car even if she was leaving him. They would cancel the BOLO.

The BOLO would go national in a few days. Diana wondered how long it would take for the car to be spotted in courthouse parking. That would make Garret sweat. He was bound to wonder what she’d been doing at the courthouse. Too bad. He’d find out in due time.

After dinner at a nearby diner, she slept six hours and rose before dawn, just because she woke up. She dressed and opened the curtains. Two men in suits stood outside in the parking lot, circling and eyeing the car. Both had significant bulges in their jackets, indicating they were armed. Her heart pounded. She felt perspiration roll down her back.

Run? There was only one exit from the room. Bluff it out? Find out who they were? She opened the carry-on bag from Albuquerque, donned a jacket, and slid her old Smith and Wesson Air Weight .38 in her jeans pocket. The jacket covered it, if she didn’t move much. And no apparent bulge.

She stepped outside. Gentlemen? Is there a problem?

Nothing, ma’am, one of them said. Is it yours? He nodded his head to indicate the car.

Yes, sir. My registration and insurance are in the glove box.

Would you mind showing us?

That depends. Who are you, sir? She smiled, and spoke softly.

He produced a badge, introduced himself and his partner, and explained both detectives were in search of a similar vehicle that a wanted person was believed to be driving.

Diana breathed.

Oh. Well, I’ll be happy to show you, Detective. I bought the car yesterday because I didn’t trust the one I had, to make the trip. She showed him a temporary title, registration, and proof of insurance. He asked her for identification, and she presented the matching California driver’s license.

Where are you going? the vocal one asked. There was a fading poster behind him supporting the Beavers.

To Portland, to see my parents. Mr. and Mrs. Jason Beaver.

He apologized, smiled, and tossed a salute as he and his partner climbed back in their car. They followed her to the freeway entrance, then circled away. Diana blew out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. They had accepted Paige Dennis, and found nothing wrong with the second ID she had acquired through a disreputable fellow in Tucson, during her planning stage. That was the only hole in her scheme to escape. He could tell Garret, and likely would, if asked. But he had seen one of her bruises. Maybe he wouldn’t volunteer the information. It could take Garret awhile to find him. And he wasn’t a frequent visitor to their place.

Once in her home territory, she knew others who could give her a completely new name. She just had to make it there before they found her. The Cascade Mountain road was winding and up and down, and she was weary, probably from the stress. Taking her time on this short stretch to her next destination, she stopped twice, once just to sit and recoup her energy at a rest stop, and once for lunch off the freeway. Glancing in the mirror before taking the exit, she saw a blue BMW exactly like her own and Garret’s matching one.

She took the next exit into a residential neighborhood without signaling, drove east for a block and a half, and squealed into a driveway with a tall hedge on the right side. She stopped the car, grateful there were no others in the driveway. Then she doubled her fists and slammed them, hard, on the steering wheel. She felt for the handgun she’d put in the other seat when it had proved uncomfortable in her pocket.

Damn, damn, damn! she cried, and burst into tears, sliding belatedly down in the seat, moving the rear-view mirror so she could see cars that passed. He couldn’t be here yet. He couldn’t be! But, of course, he could, if he had just driven toward Eugene out of Albuquerque. It didn’t mean he was on her tail. She wiped her face and breathed. He couldn’t possibly have spotted the car. He had no way of knowing she’d bought it. Get ahold of yourself, fool. A knock on the window made her jump and swivel around, gun in hand. The front door of the house was open.

A middle-aged woman in stretch pants and a loose, long-sleeved shirt stood there, motioning her to roll down her window. She complied, tucking the gun out of sight.

I’m sorry, she started.

No need. Are you all right?

Yes. I’m fine. I’ll get out of your—

No. No, please, come in. I have hot tea and fresh Danish I made myself. Please come in. I don’t want you back on the road in your condition.

My …

I know an upset wife when I see one. Please, come in. Diana reminded herself to toss her expensive wedding ring.

Diana glanced at her watch and stepped out of the car, following the woman, feeling self-conscious about the display the lady must have watched. Tea and Danish was more tempting than she had the will to resist right now.

She sat in a cozy breakfast nook in a lovely home and sipped Irish Breakfast tea. Mrs. Lincoln had introduced herself, shaken hands with Diana, and poured water from a ready teapot, already hot. The Danish was light, barely warm, and delicious.

The bruise is beginning to heal. It happened recently?

Yes. Diana involuntarily touched her face. She drew a ragged breath, but didn’t give in to the urge to cry again.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Lincoln said. I asked you in because I have worked for the crisis center for years. If I can help you connect to the shelter or legal assistance, I will be happy to do so. She spoke softly, not pitying, but evincing empathy.

Diana smiled. I don’t live here.

It doesn’t matter. We can help you.

I know you can, but I have it covered. I’m on my way home, where I used to be a police officer, and I know all those connections, too.

But you turned into my driveway to hide from someone.

Mostly my imagination, I think. I’m a little on edge. I testified in grand jury against my husband, and he will literally kill me if he catches me.

When you leave is always the most dangerous time. But men usually get over it eventually. That’s why shelters are so useful. They buy you time.

Yes, they do, and that is also why people like you are so vital to the system. I deeply appreciate your desire to help, and believe me, you are helping, but I have planned this for a while. I just gave in to a moment of panic. I’ll be fine, and my presence here could put you in danger.

Don’t let that even enter your head. My safety has been compromised a hundred times.

Thank you. Really. I am on my way to see someone who will help.

Oh? Who is that?

Diana’s paranoia kicked in. An uncle who knows where I can go and be safe, she lied. She was getting far too good at that. Really, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Thank you for your kindness. Aunt Leah and Uncle Steve are waiting for me, and it’s not far now. She stood up, offered her hand to Mrs. Lincoln, and slipped out the door, wondering if Mrs. Lincoln had recognized her from some news report. No one could have foreseen that she would have turned into this precise driveway when the sight of a familiar-looking car frightened her.

Familiar-looking was right. When you buy a car, suddenly every car on the road looks like yours, and that phenomenon is long lasting. She knew how many blue BMWs there were on the road. Nevertheless, she vowed to be even more cautious until she reached safety. She found her way back to the road that would take her to John’s house, feeling somewhat safer in the growing dark.

Chapter 3

John

A story to me means a plot where there is some surprise.

Because that is how life is—full of surprises.

~Isaac Bashevis Singer

Street lights cast their rays behind the houses barely well enough to light her path. After identifying the house, Diana had parked two blocks away and approached it through a communal alley that allowed vehicular access to backyards when needed. The rear gate was locked, and the eight-foot fence intimidating. In addition, a low growl from the other side raised the hair on her neck, even though she knew who emitted it. He could make anyone feel threatened. It was cold in Ashland this late. She was grateful it wasn’t raining or even snowing. The fence was the least of her concerns.

Thank you, God, for police training. She bent her knees and jumped, catching the top edge of the fence with both hands. Then she swung a foot up until she hooked it over the top, and dragged herself up. At the top, she rested her knee on the two by four crossbar, brought her other leg over, and jumped clear. A sharp bark told her Grover was aware of her presence.

Easy, Grovie, boy. It’s only me. Easy, Grover. The 160- pound German shepherd barked again, and came for her, leaping toward her face. Diana grabbed the big dog’s head with both hands and rubbed. His huge tongue lapped her face. She moved her face aside and pulled him into a hug, laughing. The back door opened.

Down, Grover, John Stivers ordered. The dog obeyed instantly. Get in here, Diana.

Thanks, John, Diana said, sidling past John though the partially open door. In the kitchen, she stopped. Did Dad call you?

No. But if it was anyone but you, Grover wouldn’t have left any pieces. You must be in trouble if you’re arriving unannounced in the middle of the night, over the back fence.

I am. I waited until dark, just in case. I’m registered in a cheap motel in a false name.

In my den, then. John was a handsome, lean, gray-haired man in his seventies. He called the dog inside, locked the door, double checked it, and walked ahead of her.

She followed him to a room that resembled a library more than a den. He switched on a light and stood aside to let her enter, waving at her to sit. She chose a comfortable chair beside a small, circular table near the mahogany desk he had brought from his law office. Relieved to finally be with someone she could trust, she trembled. He sat opposite her.

Have you eaten?

Yes.

He reached into a small cabinet under the window and withdrew a bottle of Scotch whiskey and two shot glasses. He poured two fingers in each one and set the bottle down. Diana gratefully took a sip.

Have you left your husband? he asked.

Diana looked up. Yes. You don’t miss much.

Permanently?

Yes, Diana answered.

Good. Then I have a lot to tell you.

I beg your pardon?

Oh. I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Diana, I am sorry that your marriage has not worked out for you. It is painful when a marriage falls apart, even if it’s for the best.

It is. But why were you expecting that it would?

Your parents were uncomfortable with small things they saw when they visited you last year. They told me to prepare for a visit from you.

How did they know a year ago, that I’d come here?

If you hadn’t, I’d have gone to you, wherever I needed to go.

I’m missing something here, John, and I wish you’d get to the point.

I will do that, I promise. Did you take money from home?

Yes. I took money from the safe, money I am fairly sure was ill-gotten.

How is it lasting? He drank the whiskey and poured himself another, offering one to her. She held out her now empty glass.

At the rate I’m spending it, I have about two more weeks. I’m hoping I can slow down a bit.

No worries. He took a large set of keys and opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out bank bundles of money, banded together.

No, John, I can’t take money from you!

It isn’t mine. If you needed to, you certainly could. I have plenty, and you are like a daughter to me. Who am I going to spend it on, now that Leah is gone?

If it isn’t yours, whose is it? My parents’? Because I’m not taking money from them, either.

Like me, my dear, they are comfortable. But, no, this is yours. You were to get it when you turned thirty, but on my advice, your parents acquired a stay order to prevent disbursement of the money to you as long as you remained married to Garret Chambers.

I don’t understand. And John, I need you to get to the point. I can’t stay here long.

You aren’t going anywhere until we talk, my dear. You’ll stay here tonight. Did you ever mention me to your husband?

No. About 6 months into the marriage, I discovered that I was better off telling him nothing. I suppose it’s not odd that he didn’t notice. I was arm candy for his social climb, no more. In private, he belittled everything about me, including my parents—my parents!—and I just started keeping my history to myself. Up to then, it was all honeymoon, and history didn’t enter my mind. I guess 6 months was about all he could manage to be someone he wasn’t.

I’m sorry we didn’t get you out of that sooner.

We?

Your parents and I, of course. We had determined that he was bad news, just not how bad. What else did you not mention to him?

I never even thought about Templeton Island, if that’s what you mean. And while he knows I was a police dispatcher, which he found to be a marginally acceptable occupation for a wife, I never told him I had been a cop for six years. And he never saw any evidence of my training.

Are you armed?

Yes. Dad brought my air weight revolver when he and Mom came out last spring. I hid it from Garret. Despite beginning to feel just a bit woozy, she took another sip of whiskey.

Good. Do you need ammunition?

If you have some to spare, it might not be a bad thought. All I have are the six shots it holds.

Six? I thought those things were 5 shot.

That’s feather weight. Chief’s special. This one is six.

Okay. I have a Glock that holds …

No, John. If I can’t hit him with six, I probably won’t with an unfamiliar gun.

He sighed. He opened a file drawer and brought out a box of .38 ammunition and a speed-loader, a tubular structure that held up to six shells and expelled them into a revolver with the push of a button.

John, let’s get back to the source of all that money and why you’re giving it to me.

In due time, dear. All in due time. For now, assume it is yours to keep and do not fret. It is only a small part of what you have coming.

What I—What I what?

What you have coming. Do you know who your birth parents were?

Vaguely. Why? Oh. It’s from them?

Your father was Glen Thomas Payne, an internationally famous photographer. Your mother was Marilyn Joy Payne. She inherited a small forest from her parents, and sold it for a tidy sum. It’s before your time, but Glen, who was, by the way, my best friend and your dad’s, was a highly accomplished wilderness photographer, with a talent on a par with Ansel Adams and others. His specialty was wild nature that was isolated and difficult to find. For most of his career, he worked for Nat Geo, National Geographic. He grew weary of being limited to those subjects that the magazine was then covering and struck out on his own. I suggest that you Google him sometime. His photographs still receive high honors and top dollar, and he’s been dead for nearly 30 years.

Oh. I knew he was a photographer, but I didn’t know he was that famous.

Didn’t your parents tell you his name? He stood up and unlocked a tall cabinet, bringing out a framed color photograph. Diana sucked in a startled breath. It was as lovely a photo as she’d ever seen, and portrayed a school of orcas from water-line level, so that both underwater and open air views were seen. More than that, the scene was clearly shot in the far north somewhere. She saw ice floes and distant icebergs and the breathtaking colors of the Northern Lights playing over the bodies of the animals. Above the water line, she saw brilliant and varying hues of purple, fuchsia, and emerald green, shot through by white rays piercing the sky. She had never seen a photograph so beautiful. In the corner, it was signed Glenn Thomas Payne. If Kincaid was the painter of color, her natural father was the photographer of color.

I don’t know what to say, John. You’ve taken my breath away. Why didn’t you ever tell me this?

The fact that you are here at all should answer that. If your husband knew about your money, he’d have moved heaven and earth to get his hands on it. And he’d never let you out of a marriage alive.

I can’t argue with that.

He gave me this. Years later, I learned Glen had been offered thirty thousand dollars for it. The five of us went to high school and then college together, your dad, Paul, Evelyn, Marilyn, and me. I loved them. We were all very close for years.

For a while, Paul and I traveled with your dad. Then, as he took more and more wild, incredible risks to get his pictures, we both stepped away, leaving Marilyn to try to keep him from killing himself. He named me your godfather, and Paul to be your adoptive father, should anything happen to them. It was prophetic. You were barely two years old when their plane crashed in the mountains of Peru, while he was trying to film a newly discovered Aztec village. Paul and Evelyn adopted you, and I looked out for your money. You and I both did quite well.

Define quite well.

You could travel the world in style, escape your husband, hire a bodyguard to protect you, and you’d still have plenty left. You and your children can live in style, and pass down what’s left, without straining.

Whew. Nothing like surprises to get the heart pumping again.

There are three homes. One is a lovely renovated Victorian in Eugene, not far from the one your parents occupy. Another is a summer home in Bandon, where you were born, incidentally. Both are very nice and well-kept. We lease out the summer home sometimes, but it happens to be empty now. You could go there, and I could arrange security for you.

Does Dad know about it?

Yes, of course. Your parents entertained all four of us there at times. We watched winter storms and summer bathers from that house on the cliff.

Yes, we did. Oh, I didn’t recall where it was, or that it was ours, but I remember watching the ocean.

Oh, good Lord, you were under two the last time we were there, just weeks before they died. I knew your memory was unbelievable.

Yes. I used to look at the waves sitting on your lap.

He laughed delightedly. You did. As you know, Leah and I never had children, though not for lack of trying. So, we both loved you as if you were ours. As did Paul and Marilyn. If they had not agreed to adopt you, we would have. You are the child we never had.

"I love you, too, John. I have, as long as I can remember, and that’s a long time. So, I’m rich, but I daren’t spend it right now, because it’s