Quixotic Crossings

Quixotic Crossings by Deidre Dalton is Book #2 in the Collective Obsessions Saga.

 

Fate continues to entangle the Larkin and Sullivan families amidst madness, murder and obsessive love. Colm and Molly's grandson Jean-Claude Sullivan finds his life driven by greed and perversely tainted pleasures. Beloved family chef Claude Mondoux watches helplessly as Colm slowly loses his mind in ghostly visions of Molly, while Colleen Larkin seeks love in the arms of another man with deadly consequences.

From Chapter One

January 1926

Larkin City, Maine

   

    A FEW DAYS AFTER John's funeral, Patrick Larkin returned to Larkin City, anxious to get back to work. He drove his Model-T Ford along Larkin Highway, feeling well-satisfied after a breakfast of poached eggs and toast. As if to contradict his frenetic work energy, Patrick was conservative in most other aspects of his life. He ate frugally and drank alcohol infrequently, perturbed by the example of his father. Patrick's one bad vice remained cigarettes; he smoked two packs of Camel's every day.

    Patrick slowed his Model-T as he came close to Phoebe's Boutique on Main Street. He looked in his rear-view mirror before parking, and then cursed himself for doing so. Guilt ran deep within him. He always imagined one day Colleen would follow him to Larkin City and discover his secret. His fears were foolish, of course. Colleen trusted him implicitly and had no suspicions. Still, the guilt nagged at him.

    Phoebe McGarren was Colleen's older sister, both of them being the daughters of Dr. Rory McGarren. The old doctor had once been Larkin City's only physician before his death in 1919. Since then, the city had been populated with several good doctors and a dozen nurses from the New York City area.

    Phoebe was outspoken and gregarious, very independent and highly self-sufficient. She was tall and voluptuous, where Colleen was small and dainty; Phoebe was intelligent and opinionated where Colleen was submissive and concurring; Phoebe was wildly spontaneous and passionate, where Colleen was predictable and devoutly religious, viewing sexual relations as a wifely duty and only necessary in order to produce children.

    Because Phoebe adored her younger sister, she loathed herself for plunging into an affair with Patrick. She found him physically irresistible even though she was repulsed by him personally. He was unlike his staid exterior when he was in bed with her, full of spontaneous passion. She only meant their affair to be brief and inconsequential, yet somehow it had stretched on for more than a year. She was in a quandary, not sure which direction to take, but the guilty torture had taken its toll.

    When Patrick entered the dress shop, he saw Phoebe helping a customer. He stood in the doorway for a moment, admiring her salmon-colored pantsuit. Despite the beauty of her long legs, Phoebe eschewed dresses in favor of stylish slacks, blouses and jackets. They did little to detract from her fresh loveliness, and in fact heightened it.

    Phoebe glanced at Patrick briefly, and then returned her attention to her customer. It was then Patrick recognized the woman as Abigail Southwick, wife of Larkin City's Mayor Clarence Southwick. Rolling his eyes, Patrick wandered through the shop, taking in the clean and elegant displays. Phoebe had a gift for creating eye-catching tableaux of perfumes, hosiery, jewelry sets and hair accessories. It was no wonder she did a brisk bit of commerce.

    When the Amber Whale Tavern burned to the ground in 1904, the Larkin's razed the lot, leaving it vacant for many years. After Patrick's marriage to Colleen McGarren in 1918, he had come to know Phoebe and appreciated her unabashed swiftness of mind and her inherent business sense. At the time, Phoebe was working for a dressmaker in Bangor, designing many of the outfits sold. Patrick convinced Roddy to hand over the Amber Whale lot to Phoebe, giving her financial aid to build her own dress shop. The business was a success, seeing profits within weeks of opening in 1920. Many local women liked the fact they could buy stylish and modern apparel without having to travel to a large metropolis such as Bangor or the far-flung New York City.

    The shop was constructed of mellow pink brick and dark Tudor clapboard windows. Phoebe's vision of design came to fruition with her shop. She added small personal touches inside, such as live hanging ivy along the walls, a small waterfall in a corner, and a glass cashier counter that also displayed a large section of cosmetics. All of the latest fashion magazines were in a rack by the entryway, along with sale flyers. Throughout the shop were framed fashion sketches, many of them from agencies in New York. Phoebe also offered fresh tea to her customers at no charge, sometimes with small poppy seed and lemon cakes. Once a year, she held a special fashion show at her shop whereby locals modeled the latest outfits and enjoyed a full tea service.

    Mrs. Southwick made ready to leave the shop when she noticed Patrick. She smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Larkin."

    Patrick came closer. "Good afternoon, Ma'am."

    The older woman suddenly became somber. "I'm sorry to hear of your grandfather's death. You have mine and Clarence's deepest sympathies. It's hard to believe the founder of Larkin City is gone."

    Patrick assumed the mayor's wife was a tad annoyed about not being invited to John's funeral, so he said gently: "I'm sorry you weren't asked to the funeral service, Ma'am. Grandfather specified he wanted only family members present."

    Mrs. Southwick appeared mollified. "Oh, I understand," she said sociably. "Clarence and I hadn't seen John in years. Hopefully his end wasn't painful."

    "No Ma'am," Patrick replied politely. "He passed away in his sleep quite peacefully. Claude found him one morning just as he'd left him the night before."

    "May God rest his soul," Mrs. Southwick murmured. "Well, I really have to be going. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Larkin."

    "The same to you, Ma'am."

    After the woman left the shop, Patrick turned to Phoebe and found her staring at him. She did not look happy to see him, but then she rarely did. Despite their ongoing affair, she regretted every encounter afterward and tried to keep him at a distance. Patrick had to work that much harder to win her over the next time he saw her.

    "I'm busy today, Patrick," Phoebe said coolly, retreating behind the glass cashier counter.

    He watched her, keeping his face expressionless. "What do you think brought us together, Pheebs?" he asked, using his nickname for her.

    She pretended to make herself busy with a stack of receipts. "You married my sister," she said strongly. "What started between us was brought about by our inability to fight temptation. I'm at fault as much as you are. We should both make it right and not continue."

    Patrick felt a twinge of despair, but he took great care not to show it. "Why do we have this discussion every time we make love?" he asked her in a civil tone. "I don't understand, Pheebs. We go to bed, and afterward you treat me like a leper."

    "We haven't been to bed in weeks," she pointed out.

    He grinned. "We can rectify that right now, if you'd like."

    Phoebe wanted to be angry, but she saw the twinkling in his eyes and could not help but smile in return. "Damn you, Patsy," she exclaimed, using her nickname for him.

    He leaned over the counter. "So how about it, Pheebs? Can we go upstairs?" He reached over and touched her hand.

    Phoebe reddened becomingly. Since opening the dress shop, she had lived in the rather lavish apartment upstairs. It was there she and Patrick had their trysts, and where they sometimes ate meals together.

    She drew away, determined to keep her resolve. "Not today," she affirmed. "I told you, I'm busy."

    He knew better than to push her. There would always be another day. He stood straight from the counter. "Okay darlin," he said. "I'll come by and see you in a few days."

    Before she could respond, he was gone. Phoebe quickly ran to the door and flipped over the alternate "OPEN" sign to "Back in 30 Minutes." She hurried to the private stairway near the back of the shop and went up to her apartment. The single oak door at the top of the stairs opened easily as she stepped inside, glad to be alone. Her Siamese cat Lady Sam jumped off the damask couch in the living room, first stretching before coming forward to greet her. Phoebe bent down and scratched the cat on the head.

    "You always make me feel better," Phoebe said as she picked up the feline. "Would you like a bowl of milk for your trouble?"

    Lady Sam began to purr, rubbing her head along Phoebe's neck. Phoebe walked slowly to the kitchen, which was a gleaming white ensemble with all the modern appliances. She poured milk into a small glass bowl, and then set it on the floor. Lady Sam began to lap the creamy liquid with obvious delight, while Phoebe leaned her hip against the kitchen counter.

    "Face it," she said aloud. "If it wasn't for Patrick, I wouldn't have this shop or this apartment." Not for the first time, she wondered if Patrick's initial motives for helping her were geared toward gaining entry into her bed. She resisted him for a long time, afraid of the guilt and the disloyalty to her sister Colleen. However, Patrick was not to be denied and he finally wore her down.

    Despite her shame and reluctance, Phoebe found herself enthralled by Patrick in her bed. It was a love-hate relationship. While she enjoyed his physical attentions, she had no desire to claim Patrick as her own. She did not envision a life with him, nor did she want to be his wife. She knew deep in her heart she was not in love with him, and never had been. Theirs was a purely physical union.

    "So why bother?" Phoebe said aloud again, watching Lady Sam finish her milk. The cat began grooming herself with contentment, brushing her face with her paw a dozen times over.

    Phoebe wanted nothing more than to come clean with her sister, to clear her conscience. However, she knew knowledge of her husband's perfidy would destroy Colleen, not to mention unraveling her trust in Phoebe.

    She walked into the living room, for once not struck by the beauty of her surroundings. The cream-colored walls blended perfectly with the white furniture strung with gold-leaf design, and the tables shined brightly from frequent waxing. The carpet underneath her feet was from China and depicted an ivy motif also spun with gold.

    Phoebe sat on the same damask couch recently vacated by Lady Sam. She wanted desperately to end her affair with Patrick, but she knew it was impossible. She owed him her livelihood, and the thought of him telling Colleen about their relationship filled Phoebe with a sickening dread. She wouldn't put it past Patrick to stoop so low as to keep their meetings a constant fixture. In essence, she was stuck in a place she could not get out of. Colleen must never know, and Phoebe would move heaven and earth to shield her sister.

    Phoebe rose from the couch. "I just won't think about it anymore," she muttered as she walked toward the door. "Patrick be-damned."

    COLLEEN LARKIN GENUINELY LIKED her mother-in-law Sascha. The two women got along famously, although they rarely talked about deeply personal matters. Sascha thought Colleen was perfect for her son and a wonderful mother.

    A few days after the death of John Larkin, Sascha and Colleen spent the afternoon in the drawing room at the mansion. There was a fire in the grate, and the remains of a tea service on the sideboard. Sascha sat in a chair by the fireplace knitting, the needles clicking as she worked on a blanket for her grandsons.

    Colleen sat on the floor with her two sons Brian and Rory, where she had assembled a chess game. John taught the boys how to play, and it was their favorite pastime this winter. Colleen watched her children closely, happy they had the wherewithal to play chess, eager for the challenges while still enjoying themselves.

    Sascha glanced at them, smiling at their contentment. She was very fond of Colleen, and blessed the day Patrick brought her home and announced he wanted to marry her. Colleen was quiet and agreeable, and Sascha thought she would make a good match for the reserved and sometimes indifferent Patrick. Colleen never complained about his off-handedness, so Sascha assumed their marriage was a happy one.

    "Did Patrick say if he would be home in time for dinner?" Sascha asked as she continued to knit.

    Colleen looked at her mother-in-law from her place on the floor. "He said he wanted to work for a few hours, but that he would be home early."

    Sascha hesitated only slightly before speaking again. "Patrick is very dedicated to his work," she said carefully. "He gets that from Roddy. They have increased the family fortune immensely, yet there are times I wish they would both slow down. Family is important, too."

    Colleen felt herself relax with her mother-in-law's first few words. She had expected a lecture about the hard-working Larkin men and the assumed gratefulness thereof, but Sascha finished her comments with a harbinger of sympathy and understanding. The two women were running the same gamut of emotions in much the same fashion, with quiet acceptance.

    Colleen smiled from the floor. "I agree. Family is very important. Patrick needs to slow down sometime."

    "John never did," Sascha said quickly. "Even at the end, he ran his empire from a wheelchair."

    "True," Colleen said, a look of concentration on her face. She looked at her sons playing their chess game. "So we are doomed to life in a gilded castle, waiting for our men to come home?"

    "It looks that way, my dear. But one can always hope otherwise."

    In that moment, Colleen decided her new direction would be otherwise.