Free Dark to Mortal Eyes by Eric Wilson Page A

joining me, Esprit. I believe that our board members await.”
    “Bored members, indeed.” Esprit feigned a yawn. “On a serious note …”
    Marsh grunted.
    “What’s bothering you, Marshall? There’s something wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”
    “I’m fine. Nothing a little sleep can’t fix.” He was glad that Kara and hehad kept her intended reunion with Josee to themselves. No need for the prying eyes of vineyard staff and acquaintances. “Enough with the questions,” he said. “Let’s get on with business.”

    On a park bench hugged by hydrangeas, Stahlherz skipped to the audio conclusion of
The Little Drummer Girl
. He now had his own drummer girl in town. Time was his ally, and after his years of searching, she’d presented herself—so unwittingly.
    The week had started well and was shaping up for the grand finale.
    Check and mate.
    In his pocket, the vibration of his phone alerted him to a new message. He entered the security code and heard Beau’s voice. The kid—that ignorant, bumbling pawn!—had already deviated from the plan. He was supposed to have forced the Addison lady at gunpoint to drive them to the hiding spot. Her car would be the perfect cover. Instead, he had caused her to ram the BMW into the guardrail. Loose ends, plans unraveling. Stahlherz loathed this. Chess consisted of precision and timing, and even one set of transposed moves could unravel the finest strategy.
    How’d I end up in this cesspool of incompetence?
    First things first. The Professor had arrived.
    A vintage Studebaker rolled into a space at the walkway’s edge. The engine’s anguished snarl was that of an old tomcat, stirring rooks from among the trees. The birds beat the air with their wings, silhouettes against a gloomy sky.
    Stahlherz approached the vehicle. “Audentes fortuna juvat.”
    The Professor’s Latin put him to shame. “Audentes fortuna juvat. My son, you’re two days from the national stage. Surely you could do with a haircut.”
    “More important things on my mind,” he snapped. “Is it true that she’s here?”
    “True indeed. Her name’s Josee Walker.” The cracked window and the sound of rustling trees could not hide the tremor in the Professor’s voice.
    He said, “Mmm, after all this time. Where is she now?”
    “That’s the odd thing. Although details are sketchy, we know that she and Kara planned to rendezvous soon. Instead, according to a dependable source, Josee has been picked up by police and taken to Good Samaritan.”
    “Hurt?”
    “Not that I’m aware of. However, the young man she was accompanying has suffered an injury resembling a snakebite.” Touching a hand to an old wound, the Professor cringed. “I believe it has returned. It has found me one last time.”
    “You’re certain? Any proof that this man was envenomed?”
    A tired shake of the head. “Doctors’ll know soon enough. We can only hope.”
    “That’s a positive thing, isn’t it? Confirmation that the end game is upon us.”
    “Either way, Stahli, the plans have been set in motion. Tell me, has Kara Addison been removed from the board?”
    “She has. Even Beau’s miscues cannot set us back.”
    “Miscues?” Aggravation twitched across the Professor’s visage.
    “I’m setting things right,” Stahlherz said. “I’ve taken crisp countermeasures.”
    The Professor allowed him to explain, then, unimpressed, extended and waggled a forearm to entice a loitering blackbird. The rook touched down and received a directive before rising again on strong wings to advance across the cloud-checkered sky. “Be careful, Son. I know that you fancy yourself a grand master, but you’re not so impregnable as all that. Anger is a tool, yet you swing it like a weapon.”
    “It is a weapon.”
    “A clumsy one at best. You’re liable to injure yourself.”
    Stahlherz pushed arthritic fingers along his brow. He was a scolded child, revisiting isolation and inadequacy. Why did parents undermine their