The Masked Man. B.J. Daniels
van forced to take the curves more slowly. The narrow road was cut into the side of the mountain. In some places, the land beneath the road dropped in rocky cliffs to the water. In others, cherry orchards clung to the steep hillside for miles, broken only by tall dense pines and rock.
On the outskirts of Bigfork, Montana, the Saturn turned right into a new complex, where Trevor had rented a condo until he and Jill were married. At least that had been the plan. He had said he was going to buy her a house on the lake. He didn’t want them living in some dinky condo.
As Jill parked the van behind her car in front of the condo, she told herself she should just take the car and leave. As angry as she was, this wouldn’t be a good time for a confrontation—with Trevor or his girlfriend.
But then, how would she get the van back to the bakery? She’d need it early in the morning to make deliveries.
Also, she would never know who’d been driving her car. And suddenly she had a whole lot she wanted to say to Trevor. Or his girlfriend. Or both.
She got out of the van in the cumbersome costume. The front door of the condo stood open, a faint light on inside. Whoever had gone in must have been in a big hurry.
It was dark inside the condo. She could hear what sounded like someone rummaging around in the bedroom. The only light spilled from the partially opened bedroom doorway. From this angle, Jill could see nothing but shadowed movement on one wall and the flicker of what had to be a flashlight beam.
Her heart caught in her throat. Why hadn’t the person in the bedroom turned on the lights? And why would Trevor be searching for something in his own bedroom in the dark?
The other Scarlett?
Jill moved through the dark living room following the path of light coming from the bedroom and caught the scent of the woman’s perfume. She realized she’d smelled it earlier—that moment when the other Scarlett had been framed in the lake cottage doorway. A heavy, cloying scent that made her sick to her stomach.
Trevor had never been much of a housekeeper, but this place looked as if it had been ransacked. As she tried to step around the mess on the floor, the hem of her dress caught on a pile of books dumped on the floor. One of the books tumbled off the top of the heap and thumped to the floor.
The sound of rummaging in the bedroom stopped. The flashlight beam blinked out.
In the blinding darkness, Jill felt on the wall for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. Had Trevor forgotten to pay his light bill or—
A figure came barreling out of the bedroom. Jill tried to get out of the way, hearing the movement rather than seeing the person in the dark. She felt an object strike her hard on the head. Her knees buckled.
As she dropped to the floor, she heard the retreating footfalls, then the sound of her car engine and the squeal of rubber tires on the wet pavement.
Dazed, she stumbled to her feet and moved to the open doorway. Her car was gone. So was the driver. She turned toward the bedroom and the scent of the woman’s perfume that still hung in the air.
What had the woman been looking for? And had she found it?
Jill felt her way in the dark to the bedroom door, remembering the candle she’d bought Trevor as a housewarming present. She stumbled through the mess on the floor to the nightstand beside his bed and felt around for the candle. The light from an outside yard lamp shone through the thin bedroom curtains. She could make out something large and looming on the bed.
She found the candle and matches. Striking a match, she touched it to the wick. The light flickered, illuminating the small room.
An open suitcase lay on the bed, piled high with Trevor’s clothing. The closet doors stood open, the hangers empty. The same with the dresser drawers.
Like the living room, the bedroom appeared to have been ransacked. Or Trevor had obviously packed in a hurry. His clothes in the suitcase were a jumble. It was obvious that the other Scarlet had been looking for something in the suitcase.
Holding the candle up for better illumination, Jill took a step toward the suitcase. Her shoe kicked a balled-up sheet of paper on the floor at her feet. She bent down and picked it up. Smoothing the paper, she held it to the candlelight. It was an eviction notice. Trevor was four months behind in his rent? How was that possible? Even if he’d put all his money into the island development, his parents were wealthy. She realized that if he hadn’t paid his rent, he probably hadn’t paid his electricity bill, either.
Head aching, she looked into the suitcase, still wondering what the woman had been searching for. Jill picked up one of Trevor’s shirts. An airline-ticket folder fell to the bed.
She lifted it carefully, afraid of what she was going to find. Inside was Trevor’s passport and a one-way ticket on a flight out of Kalispell tonight, final destination: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Brazil? Trevor hadn’t just been planning to run out on his rent and his electricity bill. He’d been running out on her, as well. When had he planned to tell her? At the party? And what about the other Scarlett?
Jill leafed through the folder until she found the receipt from the travel agent. Her hand began to tremble. Trevor had purchased two tickets on a credit card. One for himself. The other for his wife. The name on the other ticket was Rachel Forester.
The other Scarlett? Is that what she’d taken from the suitcase—her ticket?
Jill leaned against the bed frame, feeling dizzy and sick. Trevor had been planning to marry someone named Rachel tonight and run off with her to Brazil? It was unbelievable. She thought she couldn’t despise him more than she already did. She was wrong.
As she started to put the ticket back into the suitcase, she noticed the credit-card number on the receipt for the tickets. “Trevor, you really are a lousy bastard.” He’d used Jill’s credit card to buy the tickets for himself and his secret new bride.
Reeling, Jill stumbled out of the condo. Her head throbbed, and when she touched the bump on her forehead, her fingers came away sticky with blood.
All she wanted to do was go home and forget this day had ever happened. Forget Trevor. Too bad she couldn’t forget what had happened between them in the cottage—before the other Scarlett had shown up.
As she drove downtown to her apartment over the bakery she owned, she told herself this night couldn’t get any worse. But as she passed the bakery, she saw the sheriff’s deputy car parked across the street. Two deputies got out as she parked the van out front rather than continue on around to the back entrance to the upstairs apartment.
She stood paralyzed with worry on the sidewalk as they approached, afraid it had something to do with her father. Gary Lawson hadn’t been well enough to attend the party tonight. He’d said it was only the flu—
“Jill Lawson?” the taller of the deputies asked, the one whose name tag read James Samuelson. “Sorry to bother you so late. May we come in and have a word with you?”
She nodded dumbly and swallowed, her throat constricting, as she shakily unlocked the door to the bakery and let them in.
“We’re here about Trevor Forester,” the shorter, stouter of the two said. He introduced himself as Rex Duncan. He took out a small notebook and pen.
She stared at the deputy. “Is Trevor in some kind of trouble?” Understatement of the year.
She could feel Samuelson studying her face. Past him, she caught her reflection in the front window. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the bump on her forehead was now bruised and caked with blood around the small cut where she’d been hit.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Samuelson asked.
“Tonight. At the party.” She saw the deputies exchange a look.
“Tonight? What time was that?” Duncan asked.
“About eight-fifteen.”
“You’re