by Nora Roberts
remote place nearly a continent away from his home? To work? Autumn shook her head. It just didn’t follow. She knew Lucas never traveled when he was writing. He’d do his research first, extensively if necessary, before he began. Once he had a plot between his teeth, he’d dig into his beachside home for the duration. Come to Virginia to write in peace? No. Lucas McLean could write on the 5:15 subway if he chose to. She knew no one else with a greater ability to block people out.
So, his reason for coming to the inn was quite different. Autumn began to wonder if Helen had been a pawn as well as a manipulator. Had Lucas lured her to this remote spot and surrounded her with people with reasons to hate her? He was clever enough to have done it, and calculating enough. How difficult was it going to be to prove which one of the six had killed her? Motive and opportunity he’d said—six people had both. Why should one be examined any closer than the others?
The setting would appeal to him, she thought as she looked out at mountains and pines. Obvious, Lucas had called it. An obvious setting for murder. But then, as Jacques had pointed out, life was often obvious.
She wouldn’t dwell on it. It brought the nightmare too close again. Pushing herself from the bed, Autumn began to dress in her very tired jeans and a sweater Julia had given her the night before. She wasn’t going to spend another day picking at her doubts and fears. It would be better to hang on to the knowledge that the police would be there soon. It wasn’t up to her to decide who had killed Helen.
When she started down the stairs, she felt better. She’d take a long, solitary walk after breakfast and clear the cobwebs from her mind. The thought of getting out of the inn lifted her spirits.
But her confidence dropped away when she saw Lucas at the foot of the stairs. He was watching her closely, silently. Their eyes met for one brief, devastating moment before he turned to walk away.
“Lucas.” She heard herself call out before she could stop herself. Stopping, he turned to face her again. Autumn gathered all her courage and hurried down the rest of the stairs. She had questions, and she had to ask them. He still mattered much too much to her. She stood on the bottom step so that their eyes would be level. His told her nothing. They seemed to look through her, bored and impatient.
“Why did you come here?” Autumn asked him quickly. “Here, to the Pine View Inn?” She wanted him to give her any reason. She wanted to accept it.
Lucas focused on her intensely for a moment. There was something in his face for her to read, but it was gone before she could decipher it. “Let’s just say I came to write, Autumn. Any other reason has been eliminated.”
There was no expression in his voice, but the words chilled her. Eliminated. Would he choose such a clean word for murder? Something of her horror showed in her face. She watched his brows draw together in a frown.
“Cat—”
“No.” Before he could speak again, she darted away from him. He’d given her an answer, but it wasn’t one she wanted to accept.
The others were already at the table. The sun had superficially lightened the mood, and by unspoken agreement, the conversation was general, with no mention of Helen. They all needed an island of normalcy before the police came.
Julia, looking fresh and lovely, chattered away. Her attitude was so easy, even cheerful, that Autumn wondered if their conversation in the kitchen was as insubstantial as her nightmare. She was flirting again, with every man at the table. Two days of horror hadn’t dulled her style.
“Your aunt,” Jacques told Autumn, “has an amazing cuisine.” He speared a fluffy, light pancake. “It surprises me at times because she has such a charming, drifting way about her. Yet, she remembers small details. This morning, she tells me she has saved me a piece of her apple pie to enjoy with my lunch. She doesn’t forget I have a fondness for it. Then when I kiss her hand because I find her so enchanting, she smiled and wandered away, and I heard her say something about towels and chocolate pudding.”
The laughter that followed was so normal, Autumn wanted to hug it to her. “She has a better memory about the guests’ appetites than her family’s,” Autumn countered, smiling at him. “She’s decided that pot roast is my favorite and has promised to provide it weekly, but it’s actually my brother Paul’s favorite. I haven’t figured out how to move her toward spaghetti.”
She gripped her fork tightly at a sudden flash of pain. Very clearly, Autumn could see herself stirring spaghetti sauce in Lucas’s kitchen while he did his best to distract her. Would she never pry herself loose from the memories? Quickly, she plunged into conversation again.
“Aunt Tabby sort of floats around the rest of the world,” she continued. “I remember once, when we were kids, Paul smuggled some formaldehyde frog legs out of his biology class. He brought them with him when we came on vacation and gave them to Aunt Tabby, hoping for a few screams. She took them, smiled and told him she’d eat them later.”
“Oh, God.” Julia lifted her hand to her throat. “She didn’t actually eat them, did she?”
“No.” Autumn grinned. “I distracted her, which of course is the easiest thing in the world to do, and Paul disposed of his biology project. She never missed them.”
“I must remember to thank my parents for making me an only child,” Julia murmured.
“I can’t imagine growing up without Paul and Will.” Autumn shook her head as old memories ran through her mind. “The three of us were always very close, even when we tormented each other.”
Jacques chuckled, obviously thinking of his own children. “Does your family spend much time here?”
“Not as much as we used to.” Autumn lifted her shoulders. “When I was a girl, we’d all come for a month during the summer.”
“To tramp through the woods?” Julia asked with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“That,” Autumn returned mildly, and imitated the actress’s arched-brow look, “and some camping.” She went on, amused by Julia’s rolling eyes. “Boating and swimming in the lake.”
“Boating,” Robert spoke up, cutting off a small, nagging memory. Autumn looked over at him, unable to hang on to it. “That’s my one true vice. Nothing I like better than sailing. Right, Jane?” He patted her hand. “Jane’s quite a sailor herself. Best first mate I’ve ever had.” He glanced over at Steve. “I suppose you’ve done your share of sailing.”
Steve answered with a rueful shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’m a miserable sailor. I can’t even swim.”
“You’re joking!” This came from Julia. She stared at him in disbelief. Her eyes skimmed approvingly over his shoulders. “You look like you could handle the English Channel.”
“I can’t even handle a wading pool,” he confessed, more amused than embarrassed. He grinned and gestured with his fork. “I make up for it in land sports. If we had a tennis court here, I’d redeem myself.”
“Ah well.” Jacques gave his French shrug. “You’ll have to content yourself with hiking. The mountains here are beautiful. I hope to bring my children one day.” He frowned, then stared into his coffee.
“Nature lovers!” Julia’s smiling taunt kept the room from sliding into gloom. “Give me smog-filled L.A. anytime. I’ll look at your mountains and squirrels in Autumn’s photographs.”
“You’ll have to wait until I add to my supply.” She kept her voice light, trying not to be depressed over the loss of her film. She couldn’t yet bring herself to think of the loss of her camera. “Losing that film is like losing a limb, but I’m trying to be brave about it.” Taking a bite of pancake, she shrugged. “And I could have lost all four rolls instead of three. The shots I took of the lake were the best, so I can comfort myself with that. The light was perfect that morning, and the shadows . . .”
She trailed off as the memory seeped through. She could see herself, standing on the ridge looking down at the glistening water, the mirrored trees. And the two figures that walked the far side. That was the morning she had met Lucas in the woods, then Helen. Helen with an an
gry bruise under her eye.
“Autumn?”
Hearing Jacques’s voice, she snapped herself back. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I . . .” She met his curious eyes. “No.”
“I would think light and shadow are the very essence of photography,” Julia commented, flowing over the awkward silence. “But I’ve always concerned myself with looking into the lens rather than through. Remember that horrible little man, Jacques, who used to pop up at the most extraordinary times and stick a camera in my face. What was his name? I really became quite fond of him.”
Julia had centered the attention on herself so smoothly that Autumn doubted anyone had noticed her own confusion. She stared down at the pancakes and syrup on her plate as if the solution to the mysteries of the universe were written there. But she could feel Lucas’s eyes boring into her averted head. She could feel them, but she couldn’t look at him.
She wanted to be alone, to think, to reason out what was whirling in her head. She forced down the rest of her breakfast and let the conversation buzz around her.
“I have to see Aunt Tabby,” Autumn murmured, at last thinking she could leave without causing curiosity. “Excuse me.” She had reached the kitchen door before Julia waylaid her.
“Autumn, I want to talk to you.” The grip of the slender fingers was quite firm. “Come up to my room.”
From the expression on the enviable face, Autumn could see arguing was useless. “All right, right after I see Aunt Tabby. She’ll be worried because I didn’t say good night to her yesterday. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” She kept her voice reasonable and friendly, and managed a smile. Autumn decided she was becoming quite an actress herself.
For a small stretch of silence, Julia studied Autumn’s face, then loosened her grip. “All right, come up as soon as you’ve finished.”
“Yes, I will.” Autumn slipped into the kitchen with the promise still on her lips. It wasn’t difficult to go through the kitchen to the mud room without being noticed. Aunt Tabby and Nancy were deep in their morning argument. Taking down her jacket from the hook where she had placed it the morning of the storm, Autumn checked the pocket. Her fingers closed over the roll of film. For a moment, she simply held it in the palm of her hand.
Moving quickly, she changed from shoes to boots, transferred the film to the pocket of Julia’s sweater, grabbed her jacket and went out the back door.
Chapter 11
The air was sharp. The rain had washed it clean. Budded leaves Autumn had photographed only days before were fuller, thicker, but still tenderly green. Her mind was no longer on the freedom she had longed for all the previous day. Now, Autumn was only intent on reaching the cover of the forest without being seen. She ran for the trees, not stopping until she was surrounded. Silence was deep and it cradled her.
The ground sucked and skidded under her feet, spongy with rain. There was some wind damage here and there that she noticed when she forced herself to move more carefully. Broken limbs littered the ground. The sun was warm, and she shed her jacket, tossing it over a branch. She made herself concentrate on the sights and sounds of the forest until her thoughts could calm.
The mountain laurel hinted at blooms. A bird circled overhead, then darted deeper into the trees with a sharp cry. A squirrel scurried up a tree trunk and peered down at her. Autumn reached in her pocket and closed her hand over the roll of film. The conversation in the kitchen with Julia now made horrible sense.
Helen must have been at the lake that morning. From the evidence of the bruise, she had argued violently with someone. And that someone had seen Autumn on the ridge. That someone wanted the pictures destroyed badly enough to risk breaking into both her darkroom and her bedroom. The film had to be potentially damaging for anyone to risk knocking her unconscious and ransacking her room. Who else but the killer would care enough to take such dangerous actions? Who else? At every turn, logic pointed its finger toward Lucas.
It had been his plans that brought the group together in the first place. Lucas was the person Autumn had met just before coming across Helen. Lucas had bent over her as she lay on the darkroom floor. Lucas had been up, fully dressed, the night of Helen’s murder. Autumn shook her head, wanting to shatter the logic. But the film was solid in her hand.
He must have seen her as she stood on the ridge. She would have been in clear view. When he intercepted her, he had tried to rekindle their relationship. He would have known better than to have attempted to remove the film from her camera. She would have caused a commotion that would have been heard in two counties. Yes, he knew her well enough to use subtler means. But he wouldn’t have known she had already switched to a fresh roll.
He had played on her old weakness for him. If she had submitted, he would have found ample time and opportunity to destroy the film. Autumn admitted, painfully, that she would have been too involved with him to have noticed the loss. But she hadn’t submitted. This time, she had rejected him. He would have been forced to employ more extreme measures.
He only pretended to want me, she realized. That, more than anything else, hurt. He had held her, kissed her, while his mind had been busy calculating how best to protect himself. Autumn forced herself to face facts. Lucas had stopped wanting her a long time ago, and his needs had never been the same as hers. Two facts were very clear. She had never stopped loving him, and he had never begun to love her.
Still, she balked at the idea of Lucas as a cold-blooded killer. She could remember his sudden spurts of gentleness, his humor, the careless bouts of generosity. That was part of him, too—part of the reason she had been able to love him so easily. Part of the reason she had never stopped.
A hand gripped her shoulder. With a quick cry of alarm, she whirled and found herself face-to-face with Lucas. When she shrank from him, he dropped his hands and stuffed them into his pockets. His eyes were dark and his voice was icy.
“Where’s the film, Autumn?”
Whatever color left in her face drained. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. Part of her had refused to believe it. Now, her heart shattered. He was leaving her no choice.
“Film?” She shook her head as she took another step back. “What film?”
“You know very well what film.” Impatience pulled at the words. He narrowed his eyes, watching her retreat. “I want the fourth roll. Don’t back away from me!”
Autumn stopped at the curt command. “Why?”
“Don’t play stupid.” His impatience was quickly becoming fury. She recognized all the signs. “I want the film. What I do with it is my business.”
She ran, thinking only to escape from his words. It had been easier to live with the doubt than the certainty. He caught her arm before she had dashed three yards. Spinning her around, he studied her face.
“You’re terrified.” He looked stunned, then angry. “You’re terrified of me.” With his hands gripping hard on her arms he brought her closer. “We’ve run the gamut, haven’t we, Cat? Yesterday’s gone.” There was a finality in his voice that brought more pain than his hands or his temper.
“Lucas.” Autumn was trembling, emotionally spent. “Please don’t hurt me anymore.” The pain she spoke of had nothing to do with the physical, but he released her with a violent jerk. The struggle for control was visible on his face.
“I won’t lay a hand on you now, or ever again. Just tell me where that film is. I’ll get out of your life as quickly as possible.”
She had to reach him. She had to try one last time. “Lucas, please, it’s senseless. You must see that. Can’t you—”
“Don’t push me!” The words exploded at her, rocking her back on her heels. “You stupid fool, do you have any idea how dangerous that film is? Do you think for one minute I’m going to let you keep it?” He took a step toward her. “Tell me where it is. Tell me now, or by God, I’ll throttle it out of you.”
“In the darkroom.” The lie came quickly and without calculation. Perh
aps that was why he accepted it so readily.
“All right. Where?” She watched his features relax slightly. His voice was calmer.
“On the bottom shelf. On the wet side.”
“That’s hardly illuminating to a layman, Cat.” There was a touch of his old mockery as he reached for her arm. “Let’s go get it.”
“No!” She jerked away wildly. “I won’t go with you. There’s only one roll; you’ll find it. You found the others. Leave me alone, Lucas. For God’s sake, leave me alone!”
She ran again, skidding on the mud. This time he didn’t stop her.
Autumn had no idea how far she ran or even the direction she took. Ultimately, her feet slowed to a walk. She stopped to stare up at a sky that had no clouds. What was she going to do?
She could go back. She could go back and try to get to the darkroom first, lock herself in. She could develop the film, blow up the two figures beside the lake and see the truth for herself. Her hand reached for the hated film again. She didn’t want to see the truth. With absolute certainty, she knew she could never hand the film over to the police. No matter what Lucas had done or would do, she couldn’t betray him. He’d been wrong, she thought. She could never pull the lever.
Withdrawing the film from her pocket, she stared down at it. It looked so innocent. She had felt so innocent that day, up on the ridge with the sun coming up. But when she had done what she had to do, she would never feel innocent again. She would expose the film herself.
Lucas, she thought and nearly laughed. Lucas McLean was the only man on earth who could make her turn her back on her own conscience. And when it was done, only the two of them would know. She would be as guilty as he.
Do it quickly, she told herself. Do it fast and think about it later. Her palm was damp where the film was cradled in it. You’re going to have a whole lifetime to think about it. Taking a deep
