Alaskan Mountain Pursuit Elizabeth Goddard (best short novels .TXT) 📖

attention to Masters. “Don’t treat me like a guest.” Sylvie moved away from Will and stepped down into a sunken, spacious living area with sleek sofas and chairs. She trailed her finger over the spines of books lining the wall.

“I see you so rarely.”

“I still have a room here.”

Now what? Would Masters block her efforts to go through her mother’s things? Or would Sylvie’s life be in more danger now? Will wanted to be prepared for anything, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t. After everything she’d told him about her stepfather, he’d not been prepared for the man he saw now, nor Sylvie’s reaction to him.

“Of course you’re not a guest, but your friend is. And either way, I’d like a few minutes with you before I have to leave.”

The man headed to the wet bar and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. He glanced over his shoulder. “Something for you, Mr. Pierson?”

“No, thanks.”

A woman who Will guessed to be Marguerite entered, holding a tray with two pitchers and fancy snacks that would pass for hors d’oeuvres. “It’s a while until dinner, Sylvie. I hadn’t expected guests, but I’ll be sure to cook something nice for you and your friend.”

“Thanks, Marguerite. This will do for now.” Sylvie took the glass of lemonade the woman had poured.

She glanced at Will over the rim of her glass as she drank, determination, and not just a little fear, in her eyes. What was she planning? Will preferred the iced tea and drank up, not realizing how thirsty he’d been.

When Marguerite left the room, Masters turned to face them, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Why are you here, Sylvie?”

She set the glass on the tray. “I want to finally go through Mom’s things.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late. I’ve had Ashley box them up and put them in storage.”

Will imagined he felt Sylvie’s pain. The man had sounded so cold with his pronouncement. Why hadn’t he gone through her things himself? Treasuring each item, remembering his wife with each touch? And for that matter, what was the rush? The plane crash had been only two months before. Something definitely seemed off here. Except Will had yet to do that with his mother’s things. He’d left everything in her home just as it was. He’d needed closure first. Needed to find the plane. Find his mother.

“How could you? You knew I wanted to go through them.”

“It’s been two months.”

“Where are the boxes, then?”

“What’s really going on, Sylvie? You can’t expect me to believe you brought a stranger here to go through your mother’s belongings with you.” He eyed the two of them.

Will bristled.

“I think someone murdered her. I want to look through her stuff to see if I can find any clues to find who might have wanted to hurt her.”

Will set his glass on the tray and moved to stand by Sylvie. Apparently, she wasn’t all that great at the covert operations she’d mentioned. No matter, he’d stand by her regardless.

Masters set his glass down, too, his gaze slowly darkening. Then, in an instant, concern replaced anger. He moved to Sylvie and took one of her hands in both of his. “You’re still grieving, Sylvie. Of course you are. It’s only been a couple of months. I’m struggling to accept her death, as well. Please, sit down.”

Sylvie surprised Will by doing as her stepfather instructed. Did the man still have so much sway over her?

When Masters sat next to Sylvie on the sofa, Will felt like the proverbial awkward third wheel and might have left the room, leaving them to have their private conversation. Except Will believed Sylvie was in danger, even from her stepfather. Especially from her stepfather. It was easy enough for him to be wary of the man, but he understood how torn Sylvie must be.

“I can arrange for you to see a therapist,” Masters said. “The best in the country. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how hard this has been on you. But I know you. You keep it all inside. You wouldn’t have shared it with me before this moment, even if there’d been an opportunity.”

“I’ve been afraid that you were involved.”

Masters flinched as though he’d been slapped.

Will wondered if he should intervene, but had no clue how to do it. Better to let things play out. He wished he had a weapon with him, if Sylvie’s stepfather was the threat she believed.

The man glanced at Will. “Could you give us some privacy, Mr. Pierson?”

Um...no. “I need to stay.”

Masters gave a slight nod, letting Will know he wouldn’t be underestimated. Then Masters turned his attention back to Sylvie, as if she were a stepdaughter he clearly loved as his own. “That’s ridiculous. Shocking. I’m not sure how to respond, except I wish I could cancel my meeting and stay here with you. Of course...of course I didn’t kill Regina. How could you think it for one second? She was my wife and yes, we argued, had our problems, but I loved her. I could never murder anyone, especially my wife. Someone I loved. She died in a plane crash, Sylvie. It’s tragic, but it happens to people every day. There was no murder. What has gotten into you?”

The man sounded sincere. But didn’t crimes of passion—murder of a spouse—make up for a big percentage of the world’s murders every year? Even if he truly had loved his wife, that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed her.

“I have enough problems with everything going on at...” Masters didn’t finish. Instead, he inched away from Sylvie and leaned against the sofa back. With a haggard expression Will imagined not many had seen the powerful man show, he swiped his hands down his face and stared at the carpet.

Tears slid down Sylvie’s cheeks. Will wanted to be the one sitting there next to her so he could comfort her. Was she being manipulated and influenced by Masters? Was he putting on an act?

“Your mother wasn’t murdered, Sylvie. I’m going to call