The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  on the Giambelli angels."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because the envelope was addressed to me, because it pissed me off and because I wasn't giving the person who sent it the satisfaction of discussing it."

  "You get another, I want to know about it. Clear?"

  "Fine, great, you're first in line." Too angry to stay put, she pulled away. "She said my father was going to help her land my job. I imagine he promised her that, had no qualms about promising her what was mine any more than he had qualms about taking my mother's jewelry for Rene."

  And it stung, he thought, watching her face. Even now Avano managed to prick through the shell of defense and nick her heart. "I'm sorry."

  "You're thinking they deserved each other. So am I. Gotta calm down, gotta calm down," she repeated like a mantra. "It's over and done, and stewing over it won't help. We have to go forward. I have to talk to P.J. and Trace to start, and I have to be calm. I have to be composed."

  "You want me to take off?"

  "No. This would be better as a team." She dragged her top drawer open, rooted out her aspirin. "I should have fired her weeks ago. You were right about that. I was wrong."

  "I need to write this down. Can I borrow a pencil?"

  "Shut up." Grateful that his easy calm steadied her, she heaved a breath, then twisted open a bottle of water. "Tell me straight out, Ty, what you think of the centennial campaign."

  "How many times do I have to tell you, this isn't my area."

  "As a consumer, damn it." She tossed three Extra-Strength Tylenol back and took a long pull from the water bottle. "You have a goddamn opinion on everything else in the world, don't you?"

  "That's calm and composed," he commented. "I think it's smart. What else do you want?"

  "That's enough." Drained, she sat on the corner of her desk. "She got to me. I hate knowing that." She glanced at her watch. "I need to get this dealt with, then we have a meeting with Margaret."

  The little tug of guilt had him shifting in his chair. "I was supposed to meet with her myself last night; had to postpone. I haven't been able to get in touch with her today."

  "She should be up on six."

  "Oh well." Hell. "Mind if I use your phone?"

  Sophia gestured and stepped out to ask her assistant to get some coffee.

  "She's not there," Ty said when Sophia came back in. "Missed two morning meetings."

  "That's not like Margaret. Let's try her at home again," she began, then switched gears as P.J. and Trace came to her door.

  "Come on in. Sit." She gestured, then quietly closed the door. "I need you to know," she said as she crossed back to her desk, "that I've had to let Kris go."

  P.J. and Trace exchanged quick, sidelong looks.

  "Which I see comes as no surprise to either of you." When there was no response, Sophia decided to lay her cards on the table. "I'm going to say I hope both of you know how much I value you, hope you know how important you are to this department and to the company and to me personally. I understand there may be some continued dissatisfaction over the changes made late last year, and if either of you has specific problems or comments, I'm open to discussion."

  "How about a question?" Trace said.

  "Questions, then."

  "Who's taking over for Kris?"

  "No one."

  "You don't intend to bring in someone to fill her position?"

  "I'd prefer if the two of you share her work, her title and her authority."

  "Dibs on her office," P.J. announced.

  "Damn it." Trace hissed out a breath.

  "Okay, let's backtrack." Sophia moved to the door, opening it at her assistant's knock so the coffee could be passed around. "Not only not surprised by the recent turn of events, but unless I miss my mark, not particularly upset or disappointed."

  "It's rude to speak of the recently terminated." P.J. studied her coffee, then gazed at Sophia. "But… you're not in the office every day. Never have been because that's not how you work. You do a lot of the travel, the outside meetings. And since December, you work at home at least three days a week. We're here."

  "And?"

  "What Peej is trying to say without risking a trip to hell for bitchiness is that Kris is hard to work with. Harder to work for," Trace added. "Which is how she saw things when you weren't around. She figured she was in charge and we, along with everybody else in the department, were her minions. I was getting pretty sick of being a minion. I've been looking around for another job."

  "You could have talked to me. Damn it, Trace."

  "I was going to. Before I made any decision. Now, well, problem solved. Except I think P.J. and I should flip for Kris's office."

  "I called dibs. Snooze, lose. Sophia, she's been trying to work people up around here. Kind of a corporate mutiny or whatever. She might have gotten some supporters. You may lose some good people when she goes."

  "All right. I'll set up a full staff meeting this afternoon. Do damage control. I'm sorry I haven't been on top of this. When it all shakes down, I'd like recommendations. People you think should be considered for promotion or reassignment. As of now, you're co-managers. I'll put through the paperwork."

  "Cool." P.J. leaped up. "I'm going to go draw up how I'll rearrange my new office." She turned to Ty. "I'd just like to say that being the strong, silent type doesn't make you pussy-whipped. It makes you interesting. Kris was really steamed that you didn't try to muscle your way in and end up falling on your ass. Instead you don't say anything unless you've got something to say. And when you do, it makes sense."

  "Suck up," Trace said under his breath.

  "I don't have to suck up, I've got the big office." With a flutter of her lashes, she walked out.

  "I like working here. I like working with you. I'd've been bummed if things had worked out differently." With that said he walked out whistling.

  "Feel better?" Tyler asked.

  "Considerably. A little angry with myself for letting things go this far and this long, but otherwise considerably better."

  "Good. Why don't you go set up that staff meeting deal, and I'll try to track down Margaret. You up for a dinner meeting thing if she wants to?"

  "Sure, but that's not going to make her happy. She has the hots for you."

  "Get out."

  "Buy a clue," Sophia said lightly, and stepped out again to arrange for the meeting with her assistant.

  Women, Tyler thought as he hunted up Margaret's home number in Sophia's Rolodex. And they said men always had sex on the brain. Just because he and Margaret got along, had gone out once or twice, didn't mean—

  He shifted his thoughts when a man answered on the third ring. "I'm trying to reach Margaret Bowers."

  "Who's calling?"

  "Tyler MacMillan."

  "Mr. MacMillan." There was the briefest pause. "This is Detective Claremont."

  "Claremont? Sorry, I must've dialed the wrong number."

  "No, you didn't. I'm in Ms. Bowers's apartment. She's dead."

  Part Three

  The Blooming

  Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like;

  Friendship is a sheltering tree.

  —SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

  ~•~

  Chapter Sixteen

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  March roared across the valley on a raw and galloping wind. It hardened the ground and rattled the naked fingers of the vines. The dawn mists had a bite that chewed through the bones. There would be worries about damage and loss until the true warmth of spring arrived.

  There would be worries about many things.

  Sophia stopped at the vineyards first, and was disappointed that Tyler wasn't stalking down the rows examining the canes for early growth. She knew the disking phase was about to begin, weather permitting. Men with disk harrows would pulverize and aerate the soil, breaking up the crusted earth, turning the mustard plants and their nitrogen into the ground.

  For the vintner, the quiet of Febr
uary blew into the busy and critical month of March.

  Winter, a fickle white witch, held the valley. And gave those who lived there too much time to think.

  He'd be brooding, of course. Sitting up in his office, she imagined as she changed directions for the house. Going over his charts and logs and records. Making some notes in his vintner's journal. But brooding all the same.

  Time to put a stop to it.

  She started to knock on the door. No, she decided, when you knocked it was too easy to be told to go away. Instead she opened the door, pulling off her jacket as she stepped inside.

  "Ty?" She tossed the jacket over the newel post and, following instinct, headed for his office.

  "I've got work to do here." He didn't bother to look up.

  Until moments before he'd been at the window. He'd seen her walking through the rows, changing her angle to aim for the house. He'd even thought about going down and locking the door. But it had seemed both petty and useless.

  He'd known her too long to believe a lock would keep her out.

  She sat across from his desk, leaned back and waited until the silence irked him enough to speak. "What?"

  "You look like hell."

  "Thanks."

  "No word from the police yet?"

  "You're just as likely to hear as I am."

  True enough, she mused. And the wait was making her edgy. It had been nearly a week since Margaret's body had been found. On the floor by a table set for two, with an untouched steak on the platter, candles guttered out and an empty bottle of Merlot.

  It was that, she knew, that continued to prey on Tyler's mind. The other place had been set for him.

  "I spoke with her parents today. They're going to take her back to Columbus for the funeral. It's hard for them. For you."

  "If I hadn't canceled—"

  "You don't know if it would have made any difference or not." She got up to go to him. Standing behind him, she began to rub his shoulders. "If she had a heart condition no one knew about, she could have become ill anytime."

  "If I'd been there—"

  "If. Maybe." Feeling for him, she brushed a kiss on the top of his head. "Take it from me, those two words will make you crazy."

  "She was too young for a goddamn heart attack. And don't give me the line of statistics. The cops are looking into it, and not passing on information. That means something."

  "All it means right now is that it was an unattended death, and that she was connected, through Giambelli, to my father. It's just routine, Ty. Until we know differently, it's just routine."

  "You said she had feelings for me."

  If she could go back, Sophia decided, she'd bite off her tongue before uttering that single, careless remark. "I was just razzing you."

  "No, you weren't." Giving up, he closed his vintner's log. "You know what they say about hindsight. I didn't see it. She didn't interest me that way, so I didn't want to see it."

  "That's not your fault, and picking at that isn't helping anything. I'm sorry this happened. I liked her." Without thinking, she hooked her arms around his shoulders, rested her cheek on his head.

  "So did I."

  "Come downstairs. I'll fix soup."

  "Why?"

  "Because it'll give us both something to do besides think. And wait." She swiveled his chair around until he faced her. "Besides, I have gossip, and no one to share it with."

  "I don't like gossip."

  "Too bad." She pulled at his hand, pleased when he let her tug him to his feet. "My mother slept with David."

  "Ah, damn it, Sophie. Why do you tell me things like that?"

  She smiled a little, hooking her arm through his. "Because you can't spread gossip like that outside of the family, and I don't think it's an appropriate subject for Nonna and I to discuss over breakfast."

  "But it's appropriate to discuss with me over soup." He just couldn't understand the female mind. "How do you know, anyway?"

  "Really, Ty," she exclaimed as they started downstairs. "In the first place, I know Mama, and one look at her was enough. In the second, I saw the two of them together yesterday, and it showed."

  He didn't ask how it showed. She was too likely to tell him, and he wouldn't understand anyway. "How do you feel about it?"

  "I don't know. Part of me is delighted. Good for you, Mama! Another is standing back with her jaw on the ground thinking my mother isn't supposed to have sex. That's the immature part. I'm working on it."

  He stopped at the base of the steps, turned her. "You're a good daughter." With a casual tap of his finger, he tipped up her chin. "And not a half-bad person, as people go."

  "Oh, I can be bad. If he hurts her, David's going to find out just how bad I can be."

  "I'll hold him down, you skin him."

  "That's a deal." Her eyes changed as he continued to look into them. And her blood began to move. "Ty." She lifted a hand to his face as he leaned toward her.

  And the knock on the door had her cursing. "For God's sake! What is wrong with our timing? I want you to remember where we were. I really want you to remember it."

  "I think I've got it bookmarked." No less irritated by the interruption than she, he stalked to the door, yanked it open. And felt a clench in his gut.

  "Mr. MacMillan." Claremont stood beside Maguire in the chilly air. "Can we come in?"

  They moved into the living room where the atmosphere was masculine and messy. He hadn't thought to light a fire that morning, so the hearth was cold. A newspaper, several days old, was still piled on the coffee table. A paperback book peeked up from under it. Maguire couldn't quite make out the title.

  He didn't bother to pick up, as a lot of people did, she noted. And he didn't look as if he particularly wanted to sit down. But when he dropped into a chair, Sophia edged onto the arm of it beside him. And made them a unit.

  Claremont took out his notepad and set the rhythm. "You said you and Margaret Bowers dated."

  "No, I didn't. I said we went out a couple of times."

  "That's generally interpreted as dating."

  "I didn't interpret it that way. I interpreted it as we went out a couple of times."

  "You were supposed to have dinner with her on the night she died."

  "Yeah." There'd be no expression and no condemnation in Claremont's voice. But it still stung. "As I told you before, I got hung up here, called her somewhere around six. I got her machine