by Peggy Webb
Would they need him? The noble side of him wanted the answer to be no, wanted them to find the home and the support they deserved at Allistair Manor. But the selfish side of him said otherwise.
Chapter Five
The lights in Allistair Manor were ablaze everywhere except the second floor, east wing. As Stephen maneuvered his black SUV up the winding driveway, he was soothed that everything looked the same, with nothing out of its rightful place.
He parked his car in the six-car garage and strode into the manor. Clive met him in the hallway.
“How did it go, son?”
“It took longer than I expected. I’m sorry I missed dinner.”
“That’s okay. With Cee Cee missing it was a droll affair. The only saving grace was Lily’s incredible beauty. I tell you, son, if I were thirty years younger I’d give you a run for your money.” He winked. “She said she’d wait for us in the library, as usual.”
His grandfather’s approval of his choice and Lily’s quick adjustment to the family’s routine were balm to Stephen’s soul. “What about Toni and the girl?”
“Toni begged off with a headache.”
Stephen frowned. “What’s she doing with a headache? She knows the ritual.”
“I think she spent too much time going down memory lane,” Clive said, and Stephen made an effort not to clench his jaw. Emotions were deadly. “Annabelle is in her room. I think the day was too much for her.”
“That’s not surprising. I talked with Graden on the drive home. They found no trace of Cee Cee.”
Clive nodded. “That’s going to be bad news for Lily.”
“She’ll handle it like a champ.”
Stephen’s mood lifted as they wound through the first floor toward the library. But as he and his grandfather drew closer, he heard sounds that shattered his composure. Why on earth had Lily turned on the television? She knew how he hated anything that would disrupt the peace and quiet of his evening routine.
His step quickened, and the sounds became words. Girl missing. Mother distraught.
Stephen burst through the door just in time to see a blowsy-looking dark-haired woman on the TV screen. She stood in front of a run-down house, a cigarette dangling from her painted fingernails, a reporter with a microphone at her side. A small gathering of people stood in front of them.
MISSING, DEBBIE WAYCASTER, 18, GULFPORT flashed across the bottom of the screen. LAST SEEN WEARING JEANS, A BLUE PULLOVER AND A RED PARKA. The call number was underneath.
“Mrs. Waycaster,” the reporter said, “what do you want to say to our audience about your missing daughter?”
“She’s all time running off then she’ll come crawling back when her money runs out. But I ain’t heard from her for nearly a month. That ain’t like her. That’s how come I called the cops. Somebody seen Debbie at the casinos over in Biloxi Thanksgiving, but ain’t nobody seen hide nor hair of her since.”
Stephen watched in horror as the woman took a long draw on her cigarette, the tip burning in the camera like an evil eye. Finally the wretch said, “I want my baby back. That’s all I got to say.”
A picture of the missing girl flashed across the screen, dark hair and blue eyes, a sullen pout on her pretty mouth, a tattoo of intertwined hearts on the side of her neck.
Lily turned toward him, tears running down her face. Stephen raced over and pulled her into his arms, while Clive grabbed the remote control and turned off the TV.
“Darling, how horrible for you to hear that. Especially now.”
“Oh, Stephen.” She buried her face in the front of his shirt and her breath hitched. “We looked everywhere for Cee Cee. Even in all the downtown shops and along the beach.”
“My men didn’t find a sign of her, either. I was hoping she’d be here by the time I got home.” Though Lily had dressed for dinner, a requirement that kept civility and manners alive at Allistair Manor, she was stiff and unnatural in his arms, not her usual loving and pliant self. He rubbed her back, loving the silky feel as his hands slid across the back of her blue dress. “I must say I’m surprised she’d disappear without a word. She seemed like such a responsible young lady.”
“She sent a text.” Lily pulled away and walked back to the sofa. Stephen took his usual seat in one of the two wing chairs on either side of the fireplace. Graden had lit the gas logs and adjusted the flames so they were perfect.
While Lily told them about Cee Cee’s text, Clive took a seat in the other wing chair. They exchanged a look that said, Best to let her talk, let her get it off her chest.
Finally she said, “With this other poor girl missing, I don’t know what to think, Stephen. What if someone took Cee Cee? It could even have been someone at the party.”
“Considering what was in her text, I think that’s a premature conclusion, darling. But since you’re thinking along those lines, maybe we should take a look at all the work crews you’ve had here for the renovations. With teenaged girls around, you can never be too careful.”
“Of course, we have to consider every possibility. But I’ve known and worked with all of them for years, Stephen. I trust them.”
“I could say the same thing about my friends and neighbors at the party.” He studied Lily as that sank in. “If it will make you feel better I’ll have Graden go over the guest list with my assistant Glenda Jane tomorrow. He kept a record of everyone who came. She can run background checks on all of them, but I’m certain she won’t find any red flags. We’re rigorous about who comes to the manor.”
“Thank you. This is all so horrible.” Lily wrapped her arms around herself as if she couldn’t even feel the heat of the fire blazing in the library’s massive fireplace. “Stephen?”
“What, my darling?”
“I don’t know how we can go forward with wedding plans until we find Cee Cee.”
He kept his face impassive, but Clive’s lips tightened into a thin line. He never shied from showing his disapproval.
One of the reasons Stephen had chosen Lily was that she met the Allistair standard of women of great courage. Still, she was in no condition to listen to logic and reason this evening.
“There’s nothing we can do about anything tonight,” he told her. “Right? Let’s have our hot chocolate and do our best to have a lovely evening.”
“After all,” Clive said. “Life is what we make it. And in Allistair Manor, we try to make every day perfect.”
That brought the ghost of a smile from Lily. Good. Even the color was coming back into her cheeks.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half hour, and on the dot, Graden came in with a silver tray bearing a carafe of hot chocolate and three cups. He poured chocolate into the cups and passed them around then disappeared as quietly as he’d come.
The way to assure that kind of dedication and loyalty was to find somebody down on his luck then give him a second chance. Stephen prided himself that many of the employees at Allistair Roses fell into that category.
He lifted his cup. “To the Allistairs and another perfect evening.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lily flinch. Thanks to his grandfather’s tutelage, he knew how to turn the full force of the Allistair charm on her. “Darling, in spite of our current trying circumstances, our love for each other will keep us strong and always moving forward. Now, tell me how the renovation of our home is coming along.”
She visibly relaxed as she talked about colors and curtains, new lamps and throw pillows. Now. He could enjoy his quiet evening. He could sit by the fire and fortify himself with the rich dark chocolate so he could face the real work ahead. His blue cultivar. The Margaret.
While he dreamed of how he’d use the Allistair formula to produce a rose that would rock the horticultural world, he could even agree to Lily’s suggestion that he spend more time doing things with Annabelle. Actually, it was a good idea. It would be an excellent way to keep tabs on the nosy teenager. There was too much at stake to let a fifteen-year-old ruin everything.
&nbs
p; When the chimes of the grandfather clock signaled they’d been in the library exactly an hour, Clive stood and said good night. Lily, now accustomed to their ritual, hugged his grandfather then walked into Stephen’s embrace. Their kiss was perfect, just the right amount of affection without moving into the dangerous territory of passion.
Stephen had no intention of taking the risk of getting her pregnant before the wedding. He would have no stain on his son. No busybodies counting backward and speculating that Lily had been pregnant before the wedding. No evil trolls remembering how she’d once been pregnant out of wedlock and questioning whether Stephen was really the father of this child.
No. His son would be properly born, hopefully nine months to the day after their wedding. An Allistair through and through. A strong, handsome boy who would learn the Allistair lessons well and follow in the giant footsteps of Clive.
He broke off the kiss, and Lily leaned her head against his chest. He stroked her hair--like the finest silk, like fire and sunlight--and a deep excitement filled him.
He could hardy wait. He escorted her to the staircase.
“Goodnight, darling. Sleep well.”
He watched until she was at the top of the stairs and headed toward her bedroom in the west wing. Then he made his way through the ballroom, past the conservatory, and down the hallway that led to the master suite and his home office in the first floor of the east wing.
Lily’s bedroom suite was at the far end of the hallway. Just past the stairwell, she paused in front of Annabelle’s room and eased open the door. Her daughter was curled in a wad under the covers, both hands tucked under her flushed cheeks, already sleeping.
“Poor baby.”
She tiptoed inside and placed her hand on Annabelle’s forehead. A mother, always looking for signs of trouble. Her daughter was warm but moist. No fever there. Just exhaustion after a day’s frantic search for her best friend.
Lily said a silent prayer for the well-being of both her girls then closed the door softly and hurried on. Cee Cee’s door was still ajar, her bed still empty.
Yes. She thought of the girl as her other daughter.
She couldn’t bear to think of her out there, no telling where. The world was a scary place, especially of late, filled with the monsters of Lily’s own long-ago nightmares.
Something drew her inside where she flipped on the light switch and opened Cee Cee’s closet door. Her pink track suit and track shoes were missing. Lily tried to imagine her putting on her track suit to meet her birthmother, thinking that if anybody saw her, the clothes would give the impression she was jogging instead of sneaking away.
But there was Cee Cee’s backpack, sitting on a shelf beside the riding boots Lily had given her last Christmas. Her wallet and all her IDs were inside.
Lily rifled through the closet once more and even through all the drawers in the French provincial chest beside her bed. Everything was neatly folded, undisturbed, and no other clothing appeared to be missing. Why would she go off for even a short visit with her mother and leave her wallet, her IDs and a change of clothes behind?
None of it made sense. Even Stephen’s reassurances and the fact that Jack was searching for the elusive birthmother didn’t reassure Lily.
Cee Cee could be anywhere. Dozens of possibilities roared through her mind, all of them scary. She could have gone off exploring and fallen somewhere. Right this minute she could be lying at the bottom of one of the many stone walls around the estate. Or she could be curled into some dark cranny of the manor, some place Graden and his men forgot to look, too injured to cry out for help.
As Lily went toward her bedroom suite, she shivered thinking about Graden. Considering his uncaring attitude when she’d asked about Cee Cee, how much time and effort had he put into a search? What did she know about him, really?
She powered up her laptop for a search. It didn’t take her long to discover that the most important and influential employee on Stephen’s staff was an ex-con. He’d been convicted of aggravated assault. She shivered as she continued her search on him.
Suddenly she heard a sound that froze her blood. Not a scream. Not a cry. But a muffled despair, something that could only have come from the throat of the desperate.
Chapter Six
With the horrible sound echoing through her mind, Lily flung open her door, and a shadow at the end of the hall caught her attention. Was that a man coming from the locked second floor east wing?
“Hey!” She hurried in that direction, but the shadow vanished. She didn’t know if it was real or a figment of her imagination. As she approached the bedroom nearest to the east wing--her daughter’s room--fear for Annabelle took precedence over everything.
The bedroom door was still closed. The hallway now quiet.
She eased open the door. A nightlight shone over her daughter, still curved into the same ball of bedclothes, just as Lily had left her. Had she made the sound? Had she been having nightmares?
Lily stood there a while, watching and waiting.
There. The sound came again. Down the hall. A faint echo that seemed to be coming from the east wing.
Lily headed toward the massive oak door that stood guard over the Allistair archives. She tried the old-fashioned brass handle. Locked. Of course it was. She’d known before she tried. Still, she put her ear to the door. Nothing but dead silence.
Had she been mistaken? Had the sound come from Toni’s room? It wouldn’t surprise Lily. It had taken her only fifteen minutes with Stephen’s mother to see that she was deeply unhappy. And she’d been missing from tonight’s family ritual. She could be having night terrors.
Lily decided to make more effort to befriend her. Being Mrs. Stephen Allistair would be so much easier if Toni were her ally rather than her enemy.
She stood there a moment longer, uncertain, restless, worry gnawing at her. Had Stephen or Clive come to the second floor to look for something in the archives?
Still feeling skittish and apprehensive, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Low lights underneath the cabinet were always kept burning in case someone wanted a glass of milk in the middle of the night, or a sandwich from the variety of meats and cheeses always in the refrigerator.
Lily searched the kitchen drawers until she found a flashlight. Then she grabbed Stephen’s old knock-about sweater from a clothes rack beside the back door and eased outside.
It was a dark night, with the threat of rain in the air and only the sliver of a moon peeking through the storm clouds. She pulled the sweater closer and trained her flashlight around the back yard.
“Where are you, Cee Cee?”
Wait. Someone was in the kitchen garden, her white dress flowing around her as she bent over the Swiss chard, face hidden from Lily’s view. The light pooled around the apparition, and she looked up, her face pale as the moon, silver hair glowing, eyes like two blinding lights.
No. That wasn’t eyes. It was the lens of her glasses. Lily mentally sorted through the list of Stephen’s staff. This woman was definitely not one of them.
“Who are you?” she called. The women took off running, and Lily took off after her. “Stop! I’m not going to hurt you.”
The woman kept going. But Lily bogged down in the soft dirt of the kitchen garden, the heels of the impractical shoes she’d worn for dinner sinking into the earth between the winter turnips and the beets.
She could barely make out the tops of turnips, and the carrots, beets and onions she’d squashed in her pursuit of the stranger in white. She’d confess. Of course she would, but Stephen wasn’t going to like it one little bit.
Her own folly in racing outside for an impulsive search without preparation didn’t escape her. She was usually far more sensible. She’d go back inside for practical clothes and sneakers, but then she might wake up Toni or Annabelle. Even worse, she might disturb Clive or Stephen. Her fiancé had told her night was often the time when he did the creative thinking that produced some of his most spectacular roses.
> It was best to push forward, high heels and all.
Lily made her way out of the winter garden, careful not to trample any more vegetables. Then she trained her light along the stone wall that rose eight feet high and circled the back of the property. The manor, the over-sized garage and Stephen’s workshop, where he occasionally puttered on a woodworking project or one of his cars, created nooks and crannies that could hide a teenager in deep trouble from an exploration nobody knew she’d made.
The beam of her flashlight caught a pair of eyes, watching. Closer inspection revealed a cat crouched underneath the live oak tree, his attention riveted on various night creatures scurrying about in the dark, rabbits searching for tender leaves in the vegetable garden and rats attracted by the compost pile Stephen kept beyond the grove near his greenhouses.
Lily wasn’t an explorer. She didn’t like the dark, and she particularly didn’t like being on the vast Allistair estate on a cold and threatening winter night with nothing but an old sweater and a flashlight.
Then she remembered Stephen’s guards. It would take her a while to get used to the idea that she had round-the-clock protection.
Don’t forget the strange woman. How on earth had she gotten through Stephen’s security?
“Be brave.” The sound of her own voice carried her forward as she trained her flashlight into every nook and cranny she could find.
Her search carried her into the grove, through the curtains of Spanish moss swaying like ghosts in the night wind. The evening dampness seeped through her clothes and shoes.
Suddenly she stilled. Was that another scream?
Wings stirred the air over her head, and she stifled her own scream. It was only an owl, screeching his mournful message in the dark.
Still, fear prickled the back of Lily’s neck. Premonition led her past the trees, grown suddenly huge and mysterious in the night, to the greenhouses, their glass sides glowing in the sliver of moon that unexpectedly peeked through the dark clouds. Beyond them, the compost pile Stephen called liquid gold seemed monstrously large.
