by Peggy Webb
He marched Yancy down the hall and handed him over to Glenda Jane, but not before the obnoxious man reached out to pump his hand like an idiot and to blabber on about coming back to question others on his staff. Had Lily told him about seeing Glenda Jane in the kitchen garden? What else had she seen, and what else had she told?
Stephen tamped down his growing unease. After years of running Allistair Roses without a hitch, suddenly everything seemed to be coming apart at the seams. And all because of that girl. Cee Cee.
“If you’ll call ahead I can make those conversations easier for you, Detective.” He turned to his assistant. “Glenda Jane, please see the detective out then come directly to the office.”
That ought to do it. Stephen went back down the hall and watched out the window until the detective’s car got past the fork in the driveway. There was no sign of Lily’s red Jeep, even when the detective turned onto the street and drove off.
“Mr. Allistair?” Glenda Jane was back, standing in his doorway panting as if she’d run the Boston Marathon.
“You need to get more exercise, Glenda Jane. But not in the kitchen garden.”
Her upper lip trembled. “You needed me, sir?”
“Yes. I’m going to be in the exercise room, and if you let anybody come back here to disturb my workout, you’re fired, no matter what Clive says. Is that clear?”
“Even your fiancée?”
“Yes.” Especially his fiancée. Until Lily could learn to obey the rules, why should he grant her special privileges?
Glenda Jane huffed off, and Stephen fought the urge to slam the door. He counted to five then closed it softly, went into the bathroom and washed the detective’s germs off his hands. He hated shaking hands. His mirror image showed an unruffled man in complete control.
Excellent. That’s the way it should be.
His confidence completely restored, Stephen congratulated himself all the way to the exercise room he’d been clever enough to build adjoining his office. He made quick work of getting into exercise gear, and then he went straight to the barbells.
Just because other people like Humpty Dumpty and Toni--and yes, Lily--were falling apart that didn’t mean he was going to do the same. His body was a well-tuned machine, and he intended to keep it that way.
Lily found her daughter in the shed amidst the rose chemicals. Annabelle seemed less anxious than she had since Cee Cee’s disappearance. She’d always thrived on activity. Stephen’s idea of letting her work in the greenhouse seemed to be a godsend.
Still, considering Lily’s uncertainty about her own future, she wrestled with whether she should continue to encourage her daughter’s relationship with Stephen or pull back on it.
“Do you like working with Stephen?’
“I like my roses. Come on, Mom, I want to show them to you.”
As she followed her daughter into the glass house, the answer seemed obvious. When Annabelle picked up a bucket of rose fertilizer and started talking about her roses, her pleasure far outweighed any notion of depriving her because of Lily’s warring emotions.
Let her be a child. Don’t add the weight of your messy adult relationships.
“See. I’m feeding this to my three roses.” Annabelle used a trowel to work the fertilizer around the soil of a spindly stem that looked nothing like a rose. “This one seems to be the strongest of my three. If she survives I’m going to name her St. Cecilia. For Cee Cee.”
“That’s a beautiful idea.” Lily decided on the spot not to share any of the depressing news she’d heard from Jack and Detective Yancy. There was no need to further burden a fifteen-year-old with every detail that pointed to a kidnapping with rapidly vanishing hope of finding Cee Cee alive.
Lily’s cell phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. It was the painter who was scheduled to redo the master bedroom. All the details were in the folder labeled LILY AND STEPHEN. Just the thought of it made her queasy.
“Do you need to get that, Mom?”
“It can wait. Tell me more about your rose.”
“I found a poem online by Alexander Pope, ‘Ode for Music on St. Cecilia’s Day.’ You know all the Allistair roses are named for literary figures and their works, right?” Lily nodded, smiling. “Well, one of the lines says something about ‘music the fiercest grief can charm’. Cee Cee can charm anybody.”
Annabelle’s voice broke, and Lily put her arm around her daughter.
“Yes, she can.” She was glad to see her daughter still holding out hope that Cee Cee was somewhere out there waiting to be found.
“Mom, I saw Detective Yancy’s car here a while ago.”
“Where?”
“Outside this greenhouse. He and Stephen were driving back toward the office. Do you think he has news?”
“He probably just wanted statements from the people who saw her last. I’ll see you back at the house this evening.”
“Okay. But I’m not going to sit in the library and drink hot chocolate with the old folks like I’m ninety-five years old.”
Lily didn’t try to suppress her laughter. “That’s fine. I might not go, myself. I’m growing old fast, but not that old.”
“It was more fun when Cee Cee and I stayed up late drinking hot chocolate by ourselves in that cool library.”
Lily’s instincts went on full alert. “When was this?” Her daughter paled. “Was it after the party?”
“What’s the big deal? We sneaked back down there in our pajamas because Cee Cee loves all those books, and Stephen told Lurch to make sure we had plenty of hot chocolate and popcorn.”
“Graden?” Her daughter nodded again. “Is there anything else about that night you forgot to tell me? Every little detail could be important.”
“Mom! I told you everything. We went to bed about two thirty, and the next morning she was just gone.” Annabelle looked close to tears, and Lily hugged her close.
“I know, I know. It’s okay. I’m grasping at straws. That’s all. Don’t worry. We’ll find her. “
She kissed her daughter on the cheek then climbed back into her Jeep and drove to Stephen’s office complex. She had to tell him that Graden was possibly the last person besides Annabelle who saw Cee Cee, and she needed to find out exactly how Graden had risen to such a position of authority at Allistair Manor considering his criminal record.
She parked her Jeep and entered the office.
“Is Stephen here?”
“Yes.” Glenda Jane glared at her then reached up to adjust her black wig, which had tilted over her left eye. “But you can’t go back.”
“What do you mean? I can’t go back?”
“Boss’s orders. He said nobody was to disturb him.”
“Is he with a client?” Glenda Jane shook her head. “In a business meeting or on a call?” Another shake of the head. “Then I’m sure he didn’t mean me.”
Lily started down the hall, but the assistant actually blocked her way. “He said nobody.”
“Are you kidding me?” The phone in her pocket rang, and she wanted to climb the wall backward. She didn’t have time for this, for any of it.
“I specifically asked about you, and Mr. Allistair specifically told me nobody is to disturb him. That includes you.”
Lily’s face blazed with embarrassment, humiliation, and a deep anger she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling until the frightful woman who haunted the kitchen garden stood between her and her fiancé.
She squelched the urge to shout, I specifically want you to get out of my way. But she wasn’t about to argue with Glenda Jane. What she had to say, she would say to Stephen’s face. And it would not be charming or lady-like or any of the other virtues she’d belatedly learned he treasured in a woman.
As she drove off, she wished she’d renewed her lease instead of moving into Allistair Manor. She wished she had heeded her own inner voice and dated Stephen long enough to really know him before she committed herself to a marriage that at this point seemed ill-advised and doomed to f
ailure.
Given her current mood, the mere sight of the blue front door of the manor depressed her. Graden opened the door as if he’d been expecting her. Was that a smirk on his face? Had Stephen overheard her conversation with Glenda Jane and called the house to make sure Graden was at the front to witness her banishment to the manor?
“Shall I get you some tea?” he asked.
She started to snap at him that she wouldn’t drink his tea if her insides were on fire and he had the only cup in the world.
How childish.
“Yes.” She didn’t bother to say thank you. Gracious moods were for the woman she’d been before she moved into Allistair Manor. “Bring it to my room, and bring a ham sandwich, too.”
She didn’t say please, either. She marched off with her head high, as if she owned the whole place. She would, too, when she married.
If she married.
Lily stormed into her room, slammed the door, and called the detective to report what Annabelle had told her about Graden. Though she’d missed two phone messages from the painter who was going to redo their bedroom, she didn’t immediately return his call. Instead, she went online in a desperate search for marital advice. As she powered up her laptop, the irony of their bedroom didn’t escape her.
FamilySecrets.Life
What do you do if you change your mind before the wedding? Is it cold feet? Is it last minute jitters where you question every choice you’ve made from your wedding cake to your marriage partner? Or is it something far more serious? If the person you thought you were marrying has suddenly become someone you don’t really know, then it’s not only time to walk away and rethink your situation, it’s imperative.
FamilySecrets.Life
Chapter Thirteen
Imperative clanged through Lily’s mind with the insistence of a fire alarm. More and more it appeared her marriage to Stephen would be a colossal mistake. Her heart raced, her nerves shredded, and she developed an ache in her right temple. When the knock sounded on her door, she jumped as if stampeding elephants were after her.
“Mrs. Perkins. I have your tea.”
“Come in, Graden.”
The sight of Stephen’s formidable house manager did nothing to settle her down. Thank goodness, he set the tea tray on her desk without comment and closed the door behind him. She hoped the detective had better luck digging into his past than she had. If he were connected to Cee Cee’s disappearance, at least she’d have the satisfaction of seeing him brought to justice.
Lily picked up her sandwich, but a fresh horror froze her in mid-bite. What if Graden had done something to the food? On the other hand, he’d delivered food and drink to her dozens of times. If he wanted to harm her, he’d already had multiple opportunities. She took a big bite hoping the sandwich would solve her headache. She’d had nothing to eat since early this morning in her office with Jack. And she’d been so upset she’d barely eaten half a doughnut.
The food and the hot tea worked their magic, and she felt her common sense slowly returning. She had to prioritize. The first thing she did was return the painter’s missed calls. He wanted to confirm his arrival at two o’clock to paint the master bedroom suite in the downstairs east wing.
At this point, she’d done everything she could think of for Cee Cee. And no amount of hiding behind a tea cup and a sandwich would put her any closer to solving her problems with Stephen.
Besides, she’d made a business deal with the painter, a local from Ocean Springs, a reliable, easy-going older man she’d used ever since she’d been in business. Backing out would not only deprive him of income, but it would harm her reputation as a designer.
She confirmed the appointment, adding, “I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
Lily tided herself up and grabbed her tea tray. She could have rung for Graden, but she didn’t want the sight of him to shake her hard-won resolve.
The sound of angry voices drifted from the kitchen. As she got closer, she realized they belonged to Clive and Toni.
Lily’s steps slowed. She wasn’t an eavesdropper. She didn’t want to be in the middle of a family argument that had nothing to do with her. And yet, every instinct she had brought her to a halt just out of sight of the kitchen door.
Their voices were so crystal-clear she might as well have been in the room with them.
“How dare you!” Toni shouted.
“Don’t press your luck.” Clive’s voice shook with rage. “I allow you to come here because Stephen is your son. I can cut out your visits and your checks without one iota of remorse.”
“Even you don’t have that kind of power, Clive.”
“You’d better re-read the agreement you signed when you tucked your tail and left here.” His cackle of wicked glee sent shivers through Lily.
“That agreement is thirty-eight years old, and I have access to the best lawyers in the country.”
“You try to weasel out, and you end up with nothing, girly. You’d better think about that before you take me to court. I will make you and your fancy lawyers both look like fools.”
“There’s always the press.”
“Are you threatening me, Toni?”
“No, Clive. I’m giving you something to think about.”
Toni’s heels tapped along the tiled floor, and she slammed out the back door. Lily listened for Stephen’s grandfather, but there was no movement in the kitchen. After a slow count of ten, she went in with the tea tray.
He was slumped in a kitchen chair, his chin resting on his chest. She put the tray on the counter and bent over him.
“Clive? Are you all right?”
His head snapped up. “Of course, I’m all right. Why do you ask?”
“The way you were sitting, I thought you’d had a stroke.”
“I’m not about to have a stroke, not until you and Stephen breed and give me a great grandson to carry on my name.”
Her face flamed, as much from her own uncertainty about bearing children with Stephen as Clive’s bold assumption about her future breeding possibilities. Just how much influence did this overbearing patriarch have on his grandson? Considering Stephen’s recent coldness and his total lack of passion, was Clive behind his whirlwind courtship and quick engagement?
Lily felt like a fool, a gullible woman whose own eagerness for the stability of family and home had led her into a situation she was rapidly coming to regret.
“Don’t just stand there!” Clive’s voice brought her out of her spell. “Help me up and get me to the library.”
“Certainly.” There was no way Lily could untangle the mess she’d made of things with Cee Cee missing and so much to do before the holidays.
Just get through Christmas. That sounded like a plan.
She led an unsteady Clive to the library where he sank into his favorite chair by the fire. When he covered his legs with the lap-robe he was careful to tuck his damaged hand underneath.
“Fetch me some brandy, Lily.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in your bed resting? I’ll be glad to get you into the elevator and take you up to the third floor to get you settled into bed.” In spite of his ill humor and sharp tongue, he was the eighty-eight-year-old founder of this family, and he deserved her respect.
“I won’t be coddled like an old man. Do as I say, then leave and close the door behind you.”
Lily was alarmed at how rapidly he was losing the elegant manners and charm she’d once admired. Was he getting senile? As she crossed the library to the bar, she made a mental note to discuss his decline with Stephen. She owed that courtesy to both of them. Just because she was having second thoughts about marrying the grandson did not mean she didn’t still care about the well-being of them both.
Unnerved by the day’s events as well as Clive’s unexpected rudeness, Lily searched for the brandy. She wasn’t at home behind the bar and didn’t care to be.
“What’s taking so long?” Clive’s shout further unnerved her. She jerked the bottle out an
d stood up so fast her shoulder bumped into the bookcase, unseating several volumes of poetry.
“Hold on a minute, please. I’m coming.” She picked up a slim edition of “The Raven and Other Poems” whose supernatural cover of the black raven sitting on the bust of Pallas chanting, “Nevermore,” made her shiver. As she re-shelved the book she noticed a shadow on the otherwise smooth mahogany at the back of the bookshelf. Was it a natural flaw in the wood or something she needed to report to Stephen? Something that needed repairing?
As she reached toward the back, Clive shouted, “Get my brandy over here before I actually do have a stroke and die!”
She’d had just about enough of being bossed around by the Allistair men. Still, Clive was an old man and many years her senior. Lily tamped down her irritation. “Certainly.” She quickly shelved the books, poured the brandy and hurried to him. “There you are.”
He didn’t say Thank you, and she didn’t expect it. Not today.
She was glad to leave him in the library. It was a gorgeous, soothing room. With its vaulted Baroque-style ceiling, massive fireplace, and walls of bookshelves that housed more than two thousand titles, many of them first editions, it was one of the few rooms Stephen had asked her to leave in the original state. The Rococo-revival style ballroom, the glass conservatory, his home office and Clive’s apartment were the other four.
Whatever Stephen’s other flaws, he generally had impeccable taste in architecture and design.
She closed the door just as the doorbell rang. It was her painter, Glen Thomas, with his assistant, Julio. She led them back to the master bedroom, all the while listening to him explain how sorry he was to hear about Cee Cee’s disappearance.
“If that hadn’t happened, I could have my entire crew here, and we could have had this whole house painted before Christmas.” He shook his head. “Such a shame.”
She didn’t bother telling him Cee Cee was only part of the reason there were no paint colors yet for the rest of the bedrooms. How could she possibly explain to anybody that the sight of the dove gray paint in the open bucket at his feet made her stomach queasy? How could she explain that the sight of the four-poster bed she’d once so desperately wanted to sleep in now made her want to scream?
