by Kay Hooper
Slowly she said, “But you don’t believe the mirror has any value to anyone in the family?”
“I don’t believe anyone else will wish to buy it back from you, no,” he replied indifferently. His wide shoulders moved in a slight shrug, drawing her eyes and causing her concentration to waver yet again. There was so much of strength and power about him, so much of force or the possibility of force. And yet she wasn’t afraid of him, she thought.
Aware, suddenly, of a silence that had gone on just those few seconds too long, she said hastily, “Then you won’t mind if I try to find out why Peter wanted to buy it back.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Mind? No. But just how do you propose to do that?”
“It’s an old mirror; it’s bound to have a history. I have a researcher looking into that.”
“Why?”
Laura hesitated an instant before answering him. “I … collect mirrors, so I probably would have done it anyway just out of curiosity. But since your brother tried to buy the mirror back, and then was killed hours later, I need to know if there was some connection to his murder. For my own peace of mind.”
“I see.”
Hearing something in his voice, she said tightly, “The only connection between your brother and me is that mirror, Mr. Kilbourne. I was not having an affair with him, if that’s what you think.”
His eyes were narrowed again, fixed on her face, and his voice was very deliberate when he said, “I haven’t quite made up my mind what I think about you, Miss Sutherland. Let’s just say I knew my brother very well. He never met a beautiful woman he didn’t try to get into his bed. And that was not something at which he often failed.”
Laura ignored the backhanded compliment. “Be that as it may, I’m not in the habit of sleeping with men on fifteen minutes’ acquaintance. Or married men at all, for that matter. Whatever you think of your brother’s morals, you have no right to make assumptions about mine.” He’ll incline his head slightly to the side in that mocking way.
He did just as she expected, the gesture familiar to her for no reason she could explain to herself.
“I was brought up never to call a lady a liar,” he said dryly. “So we appear to have a standoff. I don’t quite believe your relationship with my brother was innocent, and you have no way of proving it was.”
The fact that he was all too right about the latter point was something Laura found distinctly unsettling. She didn’t want anyone to believe she had been sexually involved with Peter Kilbourne, not the public, not the press, not the police, not the family—and most certainly not this man.
“At least believe I didn’t kill him,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice.
She thought that harsh face might have softened imperceptibly, thought there was a glint of warmth in the chilly eyes, but whatever Daniel would have replied to her plea was lost forever when a new force entered the study.
“Why didn’t you tell me we had a visitor, Daniel?”
I would love to paint her, was Laura’s first thought.
Amelia Kilbourne, without question. She was a tiny old woman, hardly over five feet tall and seemingly frail, walking with a silver-headed cane even though her posture was upright. Her face hadn’t changed all that much in sixty years, retaining the high, sharp cheekbones and jaw so obvious in the painting, as well as the high-bridged nose and clear dark eyes. Her snowy white hair was arranged in a smooth and immensely flattering pompadour, her turn-of-the-century–style black dress was floor-length, high-necked, and made of lace over some shimmery material that seemed more suitable for a dinner party than an afternoon of a day of mourning. But, like the hairstyle, the old-fashioned style of clothing suited her to perfection.
Daniel looked at the old lady before he spoke, and for an instant it seemed to Laura that there was a silent battle of wills going on, his pale eyes hard and her dark ones holding an expression that was somewhat defiant and—afraid?
Then Daniel said expressionlessly, “This is Laura Sutherland. My grandmother, Amelia Kilbourne.”
“Mrs. Kilbourne,” Laura murmured, not knowing what to expect from this member of the family.
Amelia moved across the room with apparent ease and without leaning on her cane, and sat down at Laura’s end of one of the leather sofas. She gestured to the other one with an elegant hand and said pleasantly, “Hasn’t my grandson asked you to sit down? Do, please.”
Laura did, overwhelmingly aware of Daniel standing silently behind her. “I didn’t mean to intrude, Mrs. Kilbourne. I—I know this is a terrible time. You have my sincere condolences on the death of your grandson.” It occurred to her only then that she had not offered sympathy to Daniel for his brother’s death, and she wondered if that oversight had been because his effect on her had pushed politeness aside or because she had sensed immediately that he would not want condolences from her.
“Thank you, Miss Sutherland. Or may I call you Laura?” Her voice was soft, her accent more Alabama than Georgia.
“Of course.”
“And everyone calls me Amelia. I hope you will.”
“Thank you.” Laura could almost feel Daniel’s sardonic gaze on the back of her head, and wished to heaven he’d move around the sofa where she could keep an eye on him It was like having the big cat of her imagination crouching in darkness behind her, ready at any moment to spring forward and devour—or at least seize—his prey.
And she felt more than a little uncomfortable facing his grandmother, wondering how swiftly Amelia’s gracious manner would desert her when she found out just who their visitor really was. But then Amelia spoke again, her tone still pleasant, and it became clear that she knew exactly who she was entertaining.
“I understand the police are looking for evidence connecting you to my grandson, Laura.”
It was hardly a question, and the suddenness of it caught Laura off guard, but she tried to keep her voice steady when she said, “I met Peter for the first time on Saturday, Mrs. Kilbourne.”
“Amelia, my dear. Please.”
“Amelia, then. Thank you He just came to my apartment to talk about a mirror I bought here that day.”
“Yes, my dear, so the police said” Amelia brushed the mirror aside, uninterested. “But it appears that Peter was seen several times in the company of a beautiful redhead, and it seems the police want to cast you in that part” Her tone was brisk and matter-of-fact, and if she found it distressing that her grandson should have been seen in the company of a woman not his wife, she didn’t let her feelings show
His voice level, Daniel said, “Have you been talking to the police, Amelia? I thought we agreed that I would handle them.”
“You forget, Daniel, the commissioner is an old friend of mine” She glanced up at him, a hint of pleased triumph in her eyes. “He called to tell me how the case was progressing.”
“And obviously,” Daniel said grimly, “let his tongue run away with his judgment.”
“Nonsense. Why shouldn’t I be told the facts? I’m Peter’s grandmother, after all.”
“The facts, Amelia? You’ll learn the facts if this ever gets to a courtroom. In the meantime all you’ll hear are theories and speculation. Because that’s all the police have, until they find evidence. Peter is dead; that’s a fact. Somebody killed him; that’s another fact. And that’s all we know.”
The hard force of his words didn’t seem to affect Amelia unduly; she merely moved her thin shoulders in a delicate shrug. “If you’re hoping to protect Kerry from public speculation about Peter’s women, I would say it’s too late for that, Daniel. Far too late.”
Laura sat very still, watching Amelia and listening to her and Daniel talk as if no third person were in the room. She was trying to define the undercurrents she felt between these two, trying to understand what it was she heard in their voices and saw in their manner toward each other. Was it dislike? A natural struggle between two powerful, willful people, or something more? Daniel seemed to choose his words carefully, yet it
was clear he was at odds with his grandmother; Amelia appeared somewhat wary of her grandson, and yet there was also defiance in her attitude.
And neither of them, so far as Laura could tell, was grieving much for the man they had buried two days ago.
“It may be too late to spare Kerry’s feelings,” Daniel said to Amelia, still grim, “but I don’t think Laura should be dragged through the mud with nothing more than circumstantial evidence against her—and precious little of that. Was it you who gave the press her name, Amelia?”
Laura turned her head to stare at him, conscious of a little shock to hear him use her name so casually. “How did you know they had my name? It hasn’t been printed in the newspapers.”
Daniel looked down at her briefly. “I know because several reporters called here asking insolent questions.”
“Did you tell them not to print my name?” she wondered.
“I reminded them that freedom of the press did not include the right to libel, and since you had not been arrested, it wouldn’t be wise of them to print your name in connection with my brother’s murder.”
She wanted to ask him why he was bent on defending her from the press when he was himself suspicious of her, but he returned his attention to his grandmother then and repeated his question.
“Did you give them Laura’s name, Amelia?”
“No, of course not. Why on earth would I have done that?” she demanded, frowning.
Laura turned her head back to stare at the old lady. But you did, Amelia. Just as she had known with Daniel, she was sure that Amelia had just lied. She had given Laura’s name to the press. The question was, why? It made no sense to Laura, no sense at all.
“I don’t know why you would have,” Daniel said. “But I think it would be … wise of you to leave the investigation in the hands of the authorities. And let me deal with the police. All right, Amelia?”
As polite as the words seemed, Laura could have sworn she heard a subtle threat in them and in Daniel’s suddenly gentle tone, and judging by Amelia’s reaction, she heard it too. The old lady’s dark eyes flickered, and her lips tightened slightly as her gaze fell.
“Very well, Daniel.”
What’s going on between these two? Then Laura remembered that according to Cassidy’s tabloid newspapers, all the family’s financial power was held between these two, with Amelia technically in control but Daniel running things—and fighting his grandmother at every step. If that was true, maybe it explained the undercurrent of hostility she felt, as well as Daniel’s clear attempt to bend his grandmother to his wishes.
What surprised Laura somewhat was how quickly Amelia gave in. But then she caught a glint in the dark eyes that turned suddenly back to her, and Laura had the odd notion that a plan was forming behind that elegant face—and that she was meant to play some part in it.
“Well, child, it’s obvious to me that a lovely girl like you would never be mixed up in Peter’s sordid goings-on, so we won’t speak of that again.” With a wave of her elegant hand, she swept away her grandson’s death and any possibility that Laura might have had a hand in it. Swept it away legally. “I understand you’re an artist?”
“Yes. A commercial artist.” The police commissioner again? Or did Amelia have yet another source of information?
Amelia’s gaze flicked toward the portrait hanging over the mantel, then returned to Laura’s face. “It’s time to replace that old thing with something more accurate, I’d say. Do you accept commissions?”
Startled, Laura shook her head. “I don’t think you understand, Mrs—Amelia. I don’t paint portraits. I do graphic design, advertising layouts in magazines, things like that. Commercial art”
It was Amelia’s turn to shake her head, smiling a little. “I can’t believe that’s the extent of your ambition, Laura.”
She hesitated, very conscious of Daniel’s silence behind her, then said with painful honesty, “I’m not good enough to be a painter, especially a portraitist I make an attempt from time to time, but—”
“You haven’t given up?” Amelia’s voice was gentle, encouraging.
“I can’t quite bring myself to.” Laura was more than a little surprised to hear herself confide that, since even Cassidy had no idea that she still cherished hopes of being a “real” artist someday.
“Then that’s fine. You can attempt to paint me.” Humor suffused Amelia’s face, transforming it amazingly from cool hauteur to warm charm. “Between us, I think we can decide if the attempt is successful. If it is, I’ll have a wonderful portrait by an up-and-coming artist. And if it isn’t, neither of us will have lost anything of value. In any case, you’ll be paid for your time and for the effort.”
“But—”
Briskly, Amelia quoted an amount that widened Laura’s eyes. “A generous commission, I think, for an unknown artist,” the old lady added.
“More than generous,” Laura said. And incredibly tempting, given her current tight budget. “But you must see how impossible it would be for me to accept your offer. Even if I felt able to complete the commission, the police suspect me of being involved in your grandson’s murder. They would certainly find it odd if I spent so much time here, and I doubt other members of your family would be happy about it either.”
“You didn’t kill Peter,” Amelia stated with absolute confidence.
Do you know who did, Amelia? Is that why you’re so sure of my innocence?
“No,” Laura said, “I didn’t. But until the police find out who did kill him, most people are going to suspect I was somehow involved. How would it look if I spent so much time here? And what would the police think?”
“The police needn’t concern you,” Daniel said. “I’ll … explain the situation.”
Laura turned her head quickly and stared at him. “Don’t tell me you think this is a good idea?”
His smile was somewhat sardonic. “I think my grandmother wants you to paint her portrait Amelia usually gets what she wants”
It wasn’t the reason he was giving his approval to this scheme, Laura thought, but whatever his real reason was remained hidden behind his enigmatic eyes And between the two of them, Amelia inexplicably requesting—demanding, really—that she spend a great deal of time in the coming weeks among the Kilbournes, and Daniel allowing it despite his stated feelings about her, Laura felt uneasily that she was being drawn into something she would be better off avoiding
Her vivid imagination might be working overtime, of course, but Laura had a sudden image of herself as a pawn being maneuvered by these two in some kind of subtle gamesmanship only they understood And all she knew about pawns was that they were sacrificed during the game
“You could work on the portrait in the evenings,” Amelia was saying, still brisk, “so it wouldn’t interfere with your job”
“I’ve taken a leave of absence from my job,” Laura said automatically, still rattled by the suddenness of all this
“The press?” Daniel asked.
She glanced back over her shoulder at him again “It just seemed like a good idea, that’s all”
He said nothing to that, just looked down at her expressionlessly
Amelia, however, was delighted “Wonderful, you can concentrate on the portrait without distractions We’ll even have a room prepared for you here in the house, so you won’t have to drive back and forth every day”
The sensation of being drawn in was even stronger, and Laura felt a jolt of panic Quickly she got to her feet “I I’ll have to think about it, Amelia It’s a very generous offer, and I thank you for it, but I’ll have to think about it”
For an instant it seemed Amelia would protest and insist on an answer now, but then she smiled and rose gracefully. “Of course, Laura.”
The relief Laura felt was so strong that she told herself it was absurd; what did she think they would do, keep her here by force? “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she told Amelia.
“And you. I hope we’ll see each other again soon.�
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“I’ll show you out,” Daniel said, setting his glass aside.
Laura was tempted to say she could find her own way, but instead walked beside him through the double doors and out into the entrance hall. She was a tall woman, but her head barely topped his shoulder, and she was overwhelmingly conscious of his size, his nearness, the physical heat of his body. And that sense of his strength and power was even more compelling now when she was so close to him. God, what’s wrong with me? She could smell his aftershave or cologne, and the musky scent appealed to her so potently that she wanted to just close her eyes and breathe him in.
At the front door he paused with his hand on the handle and looked down at her. “I’ll speak to the police to explain why you came here today,” he said. “And I’ll tell them that my grandmother has offered you a commission to paint her portrait.”
She got a grip on her senses and managed to ask, “You think that will … allay their suspicions?”
In a considered tone he said, “I think that the acceptance by the family of your presence in this house will carry some weight with them, yes.”
“Will you tell them why I’m accepted in this house?” Laura asked.
“Certainly.” He opened the door and stood back to allow her to leave. “I’ll tell them we feel you had nothing to do with Peter’s murder.”
Baffled, Laura could only shake her head. He was willing to defend her to the press, to explain her visit here to the police and to proclaim her innocence to them, and yet she was certain Daniel was doing it all to further some agenda of his own. And Laura couldn’t figure out what that might be.
“Good-bye, Laura,” he said.
She looked up into that hard, expressionless face and could only shake her head again helplessly. “Good-bye, Daniel,” she said, using his first name as deliberately as he had used hers. Then she walked out of the house.
DANIEL STOOD LOOKING after her until he saw her car pull out of the turnoff near the house and head toward the front gate. Only then did he slowly close the front door. He crossed the entrance hall and returned to the study, finding his grandmother standing by the fireplace as she contemplated the portrait painted some sixty years before.
