Carla Neggers - The Mist

“Be careful, Lizzie.”

She beamed a smile at him. “I’m always careful.”

He didn’t move to get up. “I suspect we have different ideas about what that means.”

She was aware of him watching her as she walked across the restaurant to her cousin. “Run interference for me,” she said to him. “I need a head start on our Lord Davenport. You won’t be able to outmaneuver him, so don’t try. Just buy me some time.”

Justin straightened, obviously up to the job. “What if he’s scheduled to take the same flight as you to Boston?”

“No worries,” she said, heading for the lobby. “Lord Davenport will fly first-class. I’ll be in coach.”

Justin Rush, who bore a detectable resemblance to his cousin in the shape of his nose and eyes, sat across from Will and started telling family secrets.

A delaying tactic.

“Lizzie’s a worry,” the youngest Rush said. “From what my parents and older brothers tell me, she always has been. Whit’s the eldest. He’s named after our paternal grandmother, who was a Whitcomb. Then Harlan-Lizzie’s dad is a Harlan, too, named after our grandfather Rush, who talked our grandmother into converting her family home on Charles Street in Boston into a hotel.”

“Did it require much convincing?”

“Almost none. She’d discovered rats and roaches in the butler’s pantry.” Justin reddened. “There aren’t any there today, of course.”

“Of course,” Will said. “So it’s Whit, Harlan-then Lizzie?”

“That’s right. Then Jeremiah. I’m last.” He smiled, a charmer. “The baby.”

“I see.”

“Lizzie spent a lot of time with us and our grandmother Rush growing up, but she traveled with her father, too. Do you know she’s as good at five-card stud as she is at ordering wine in a five-star restaurant?”

“And she plays bridge,” Will said.

“By herself. She tell you it anchors her mind? Personally, a pint of Guinness does the job for me. How well do you know her?”

“We only met last night.”

“Where? Not Dublin, not from the state of her shoes, at least. Were you tramping through stone circles and fighting Irish bulls with her in West Cork?”

Will wondered when word of the attack on Keira would reach Justin Rush in Dublin, or if it had and he was just more adept at dissembling than his cousin. “I ran into her in a West Cork pub.”

Justin looked momentarily awkward and glanced toward the door, as if he hoped Lizzie would be there to take him off the hook. He turned back to Will. “Lizzie’s a free spirit, but she’s a hard worker, too. She’s worked at every one of our hotels just like the rest of us. She’s very good at her job. My dad would fire her if she wasn’t.”

“But she’s been on a bit of a hiatus this past year, hasn’t she?”

“Sort of.” The red spread to her young cousin’s neck. “She got mixed up with that cretin Norman Estabrook. I know it’s wrong of me, but I hope his plane-never mind. I won’t say it out loud.”

“Where does Lizzie’s father live? Boston?”

“Uncle Harlan avoids Boston whenever possible.”

“And Ireland, too, I gather,” Will said.

He noticed a wince of genuine discomfort as Justin’s expression softened. “It’s because of the memories.”

“Lizzie’s mother?”

Justin feigned great interest in a pepper grinder.

Will persisted. “What happened to her?”

“She died in a freak accident when Lizzie was a baby-here in Dublin, as a matter of fact. She was Irish herself. She was here to visit her family.”

“She came without Lizzie?”

He nodded.

“And without her husband?”

Another awkward nod. “It was eight years before I was born. She flew to Dublin for a five-day visit and tripped on a cobblestone on Temple Bar. She hit her head. They say she died instantly.” Justin cleared his throat and lifted his gaze from the pepper grinder. “Just one of those things.”

It didn’t sound like just one of those things, but Will could see Justin had said all he planned to say on the matter, and possibly all he knew. “Where does your uncle Harlan live, then, if not Boston?”

“His official residence is Las Vegas, but I doubt he’s there half the year. He’s on the board of the family biz, but he doesn’t have an active role these days. He spends most of his time traveling and gambling.”

“I understand Lizzie travels a great deal. Does she also gamble?”

“Not with money. She’s a risk-taker, but she’s tight with a buck. She’s debating whether to rent or tear down the old Rush family place in Maine. No one else wanted it, but she loves it-the location, anyway. The house itself is a wreck.” Justin Rush shrugged, clearly reluctant to share so much information about his cousin, but he had his marching orders and needed to hold Will’s interest and stall him. “Lizzie says it’s unpretentious.”

Will smiled, imagining Lizzie wringing costs out of a renovation project with carpenters and architects. She’d have her way. But he steered Justin back to the more immediate concerns at hand. “Do you know Norman Estabrook yourself?”

“I’ve met him. I carried his bags.”

“When he stayed here a year ago this past April,” Will said.

“What, do you know everything already?”

“Not at all. How did Mr. Estabrook strike you?”

“I didn’t really notice him. I was here on spring break. I had my hands full not to drop bags on the toes of hotel guests. I’ve improved since then. Mr. Estabrook had some adventure in the works-I think he hiked the Skelligs, but I’m not sure. He had quite an entourage with him. Ran me ragged.”

“Do you consider Lizzie part of his entourage?”

Justin looked slightly annoyed as well as protective. “Lizzie would never be part of anyone’s entourage.”

“But she was here then, in Dublin,” Will said.

“Yes. On her own-not with him. That’s when they met.” Justin picked up a crumb of his cousin’s abandoned scone. “They were never more than just friends. And if you’re going to ask if she has a boyfriend, I’m not going to tell you.”

His tone suggested she didn’t, which pleased Will more, undoubtedly, than was smart. “Do you remember anyone else from Mr. Estabrook’s entourage?”

“Nope.”

“Did he stay here again after that April visit?”

“Not that I know of.” Justin glanced down at his crumb, then up again, his eyes showing more maturity. “Is Lizzie in trouble?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“She can kick butt with the best of them. She’s practiced on all of us. She bloodied my brother Jeremiah’s nose last New Year’s.”

“Your family was gathered for New Year’s? Where?”

“Vegas. All of us, including Uncle Harlan.”

“Your hotel’s very comfortable,” Will said, rising, “and you did your job. You delayed me.”

Justin got to his feet. “You wanted to learn more about Lizzie.”

Will saw the unease in the young Rush’s expression. “Justin, is your family worried about her?”

“Doesn’t much matter, does it? Lizzie thinks she’s on her own.”

Will had his own experience with worried family members left behind, but he was a professional officer. Lizzie Rush, clearly, was not. He said quietly, “I’m not going to hurt her.”

“But will you help her?”

“If I can. If she’ll let me.”

“Sometimes I think she likes living dangerously.”

“Perhaps she’s merely trying to do what she can to help with a difficult situation and leave her family out of it.” Will didn’t wait for a reply. “You’ve given your cousin sufficient time to get to the airport. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Justin. If you’re ever in London, look me up.”