by Kay Hooper
“I’ve heard that.” Laura glanced at her. “I’ve also heard that he and Amelia don’t always agree on financial decisions.”
Josie hesitated, then shrugged. “I couldn’t really say, since I’m Amelia’s personal assistant and rarely have anything to do with family business. But I do know that while Amelia can veto some financial decisions, she has no say in others—or at least, so it seems to me. Apparently, David left the family money tied up in some odd, complicated way it’d take a team of lawyers to understand.” She hesitated again. “There’s been some tension from time to time. But I’d guess that kind of thing was normal in a family like this one. Nobody’s going to agree all the time.”
Laura knew only too well that Josie was right; nobody agreed all the time, and within families—especially powerful families—dissension was probably closer to being the rule than the exception. But she wondered if the curious division of power within the Kilbourne family had grated on two strong, dominating personalities, turning them into adversaries.
“How was Peter involved in the family business?” she asked, curious.
“Well, he wasn’t, really. Some family stock, of course, but no voting power, and he didn’t have much of a say in what went on. He did things for Amelia, checked out investments and the like; she has some money of her own, you see, and that’s separate from family holdings.”
Laura was a little surprised that Josie was being so forthcoming, but had a hunch it was less a matter of her discretion and more a matter of Amelia’s instructions. What she didn’t understand was why Amelia would want her questions about the family answered. To enable her to paint a better portrait? It didn’t seem likely. Why, then?
“I wish they’d find out who killed Peter,” Josie said suddenly, her tone anxious. “It’s so awful not knowing.”
Nodding, Laura said, “I read a book once where there was a murder and all the innocent people tied themselves into knots, agonizing over it. In their imaginations any of them could have done it, so they were suspicious of each other. The point of the story was that the innocent suffer more than the guilty do when they don’t know the truth.”
Josie glanced at her quickly. “I don’t believe any of the family did it. How could I believe that?” When Laura said nothing, she added, “It must have been the redhead with him. The police think so.”
Laura nodded, hearing the aching uncertainty in the other woman’s voice; Josie had plenty of doubts and suspicions. “Probably.”
As they passed through the lovely rock garden, Josie looked distractedly around, her expression showing no pleasure in beauty at the moment. Almost to herself, she said, “I hate not knowing. I hate it.”
“So do I. And I hate being suspected of something terrible I didn’t do,” Laura said steadily. “That’s why I’ve been asking nosy questions about the family. If you were wondering.”
“Well, I was wondering,” Josie said after a moment. “But I can see how you might think it was a good idea to learn all you could about the family.”
“It’s the only thing I can do. I was pulled into this because I bought a mirror here and later talked to Peter about it. And even though the police can’t connect me to his murder, the press is having fun trying. If the truth doesn’t come out, I’ll always have that black mark of suspicion and doubt against me.”
Josie stopped on the path and looked at her. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But you’re right, of course. If the truth doesn’t come out … we can never be sure about a lot of things. Including the people around us.” She drew a breath. “But do you really think that something you learn about the family can help you find that truth?”
Laura hesitated, then said, “I think Peter was murdered because of the kind of man he was. Somewhere along the way, he made a bad enemy, and that enemy killed him. Maybe that redhead he checked into the motel with killed him. It certainly looked like a crime of passion, it seems. But maybe his death was just supposed to look that way. Maybe we’re all making wrong assumptions. I don’t know, Josie. I’m not a detective.”
“Yet you can’t leave it to the detectives, the police?”
“No, I can’t. I have to find out for myself why Peter died. And why I was one of the last people to see him alive.”
Josie nodded soberly. “I can’t say that I blame you for that. But be careful, Laura. In all the books the amateur almost always ends up hip-deep in trouble.”
It was a friendly warning, Laura thought.
At least, she hoped it was.
The two women continued along the path through the gardens to the house, neither of them with much to say now. Laura was debating with herself as to whether she should ask Josie where she was the night Peter was killed. She needed to know that, if only to eliminate the delicate redhead as a candidate for Peter’s mysterious lover, but at the same time she didn’t want to upset the feeling of casual harmony between them.
And chances were good Josie wouldn’t like the question.
They were still silent as they went up the steps onto the veranda, and both stopped almost automatically as a man strolled out of the conservatory to meet them. He was tall and blond, a strikingly handsome man with greenish eyes and a lazy smile. He looked to be about Laura’s own age, she thought, and the sober elegance of his business suit was offset somewhat by the loosened, brightly colored tie peopled with cartoon characters.
“Hi, Josie,” he said amiably with a faint smile for the redhead, and then, looking at Laura, he added, “You must be Laura. I’m Alex Kilbourne.”
The lawyer, Laura realized as she nodded a greeting. “You’re … Amelia’s cousin?” she ventured.
“Yes, but only in the vague Southern sense, meaning that we’re related. Actually, my grandfather was the youngest brother of Amelia’s late husband. There were three brothers; everyone in this house is descended from or related by marriage to those three brothers.”
Laura sighed. “I think I need to see a family tree,” she murmured almost to herself.
Josie spoke finally, directly to Laura. “Amelia began a genealogy years ago, so there’s a fairly complete chart going back several generations; I’ll show it to you later, if you’ll remind me.”
“Thanks, I will.” Laura became aware then that here was yet another undercurrent among the Kilbournes—this one between Josie and Alex. He seemed relaxed, yet his glances at Josie held an odd entreaty; and though Josie remained expressionless, Laura could feel her tension.
“How did you like the gardens?” Alex asked Laura, his tone still pleasant.
“Very much. This is a beautiful place.”
“It has its charms.” He smiled. “Amelia’s just come down, I believe, and is waiting for you in her parlor.”
“I’ll show you the way, Laura,” Josie said instantly.
Laura was tempted to tell Josie she could find her own way, since she was certain Alex wanted a moment alone with the redhead, but she decided not to interfere, having no idea what kind of relationship they had. It was interesting, though. Very interesting.
“Nice meeting you, Alex,” she said instead.
“My pleasure. See you around, Laura. Josie.”
They left him standing there on the veranda, and when Laura glanced at Josie’s face as they moved through the conservatory, she found the older woman wearing an unhappy frown. Tentatively, Laura said, “He seems very nice. He lives here in the house?”
Josie nodded. “Since he joined the family firm of lawyers a couple of years ago. Amelia likes to have family around her, and the house is certainly big enough.” Her voice was distracted and the frown remained.
“Did Alex and Peter get along?” Laura wondered.
Josie didn’t answer immediately, and when she did her voice was no longer distracted. “No. No, they didn’t.” Before Laura could respond to that, Josie added quickly, “But he was here the night Peter was killed. Besides, they didn’t hate each other, they just didn’t get along especially well.”
“I s
ee.”
“And a woman killed Peter. That’s what they said, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s what they said.” But only because a woman was seen with him at the motel. We don’t really know for sure that she killed him. A man could have come along later and done it.
As if she had read Laura’s thoughts, Josie’s expression of unhappiness intensified. But all she said was, “Here, this is Amelia’s parlor. I’ll see you later, Laura.” She didn’t exactly run as she continued down the hall toward the front of the house, but her need to get away was pretty obvious.
Laura hesitated an instant, then went into the small parlor where she had met Kerry earlier. It was, now that she had heard it termed “Amelia’s parlor,” very characteristic of the old lady and her style. Almost Victorian, it was furnished with antiques and held so many small tables and pictures and bric-a-brac that an unkind person would have called it cluttered. The draperies were heavy velvet, the wallpaper dark, and spread over the hardwood floor was a tapestry rug fashioned in unusually dark colors.
She had barely noticed the room during her first visit this morning, but now it had a strong impact on Laura. She couldn’t help wondering what in Amelia’s background or personality had produced this near obsession with dark colors and heavy textures. So many losses? So many bouts with grief? Had her life given Amelia a dark and gloomy vision of the world around her?
Amelia was sitting in a delicate Queen Anne chair and smiled as Laura came in. “I hope Josie took good care of you, child.”
“Very good care of me, Amelia. We walked through the gardens.”
“Ah, good. Then shall we continue working? I thought you might like to sketch me in here. I spend a great deal of time in here.”
Looking at Amelia in gleaming widow’s black surrounded by the stifling colors and clutter of her room, Laura thought the background was ideal. She picked an angle, found a chair, and began sketching.
ALEX CAME INTO the library and closed the doors firmly behind him.
Josie looked up, stiffened, and said immediately, “Daniel will be back in here—”
“Not for half an hour or so, he won’t,” Alex told her. “I asked him to give us a little while.”
She pushed her chair back and stood up, glaring at him. “You had no right to do that. Dammit, Alex—”
He came to the desk, but didn’t attempt to go around that barrier to touch her. “Josie, you’ve been avoiding me since Saturday night. You scuttle away when I get close, leave a room if I come into it, and lock yourself in your bedroom right after supper.”
“Get it?” she snapped.
Alex grinned faintly. “I’d have to be an idiot not to. You’re avoiding me. Okay, so let’s talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I think there is. Listen, I know I upset you—”
“Upset me? First you convince me to spend the night, and then you needle me until I change my mind. Why would that upset me?”
“Josie—”
She gestured angrily, cutting him off. “If you want to end it, Alex, just say so. Maybe men your age like playing games, but I’m a little beyond that, so let’s cut to the chase, all right?”
He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Age has nothing to do with it, Josie—not yours and not mine. I won’t let you use that as an excuse.”
“You won’t let me? Since when is this my fault? Dammit, Alex, you’re the one who ran me off Saturday night—and don’t you dare try to deny it.”
“All right, I won’t.”
His mild agreement took the wind out of her sails, leaving Josie feeling unexpectedly flat. “Well, why?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Because … you didn’t want to stay. Oh, you agreed to, but only because I more or less forced you to. And when that happened, I realized it wasn’t the way I wanted it to be. I didn’t want to wake up in the morning and see you regretting we’d spent the night together.”
Josie frowned at him. “Then why didn’t you say something about it instead of—of being cruel and driving me away?”
“Was I cruel? No, Josie—unless the truth is cruel.” He smiled slightly, his greenish eyes very intent on her face. “I know I probably sounded harsh, and I suppose that was intentional. It just seems to me that it’s time you said good-bye to Jeremy. Unless, that is, you really do want to end up like Amelia, still wearing black and living in a mausoleum forty years from now. Is that what you want?”
No! But she couldn’t quite voice that answer, as badly as she wanted to. Something held her back. Slowly she said, “My feelings about Jeremy are none of your business.”
“They are when he sleeps between us in my bed,” Alex said bluntly. “A ménage à trois isn’t quite what I bargained for.”
She felt hot tears sting her eyes, and wasn’t even sure why. “You didn’t complain in the beginning,” she said shakily. “Why start now?”
He hesitated, then said, “Maybe because it offends my sense of justice to see a beautiful young woman bury herself with her dead husband. Maybe because I can’t believe Jeremy would have wanted you to stop feeling when he died. Or … maybe I just resent knowing there’s a ghost in my bed. Take your pick, Josie. It really doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Does it?” Alex shrugged again. “All right, then. I don’t like it, sweet. I just don’t like it. Every time I take you in my arms, I know damned well you think you’re cheating on Jeremy. And I really don’t enjoy feeling like the other man. I took it as long as I could, and now I just can’t take it anymore.”
Josie drew a breath. “I can’t help how I feel.”
“Neither can I.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of her desk, and held her gaze steadily. “Make no mistake, Josie—I want you back in my bed. But not until it’s just the two of us. Leave Jeremy in your inner sanctum if you have to, his picture on your dresser. Apologize to him there, if you have to, for being with another man, and do penance if he demands it of you—or you demand it of yourself. But the next time you come to me, you come alone.”
Josie didn’t say a word, watching silently as he straightened, turned, and walked to the door. She didn’t call him back, as badly as she wanted to, when he opened the door and went out, leaving her alone in the room.
When he was gone, she sank down into her chair and looked rather blindly at the schedule of Atlanta’s upcoming charity events she had been studying when he had come in. She couldn’t think of anything beyond Alex’s ultimatum and the confusion of her own feelings.
And when she could think, long minutes later, she realized that her uneasy questions about what he’d been doing in Peter’s room later on Saturday night, and what he and Daniel were up to, had completely slipped her mind when he was standing in front of her and might have answered them. But now those questions tormented her as surely as his ultimatum did.
Alex had gotten up and dressed after she’d left him, and she had to wonder if it had been the first time. Or had he, the previous Saturday night, also dressed and left his room—and possibly this house—after she had returned to hers?
“… a woman killed Peter. That’s what they said, isn’t it?”
Laura had agreed, Josie remembered. But her expressive face had said clearly what had occurred to Josie—that it was believed a woman had killed Peter only because a woman had been seen with him that night.
There was no reassurance in that thought. Only doubts.
Too many doubts.
“SO THIS IS Amelia Kilbourne.” Cassidy studied the second sketch Laura had made at the house, shaking her head almost unconsciously. “She looks like something out of the last century.”
Curled up in the chair in her living room, Laura sipped the hot chocolate she’d just made—as a sort of defiant good-bye to summer, whether it had really gone or not—and nodded. “She’s just that way, in looks. Sort of the way she talks sometimes as well. But I get the idea it’s because she favors
a more elegant time—and knows she looks good in the setting.”
Cassidy put the sketchpad aside and eyed her friend thoughtfully. “That sounds awfully … calculated.”
Laura was momentarily surprised, but then nodded. “I guess so. I think Amelia is very aware of how things look. Not just appearances, but the meanings behind them. She’s … an interesting woman.”
“Umm. What about the others? That sketch you did of Josie is especially good, by the way; I’d certainly know her if I saw her. Your best work.”
Laura smiled, but shrugged off the compliment. “I like Josie. And, at a guess, she wasn’t involved with Peter because she is involved with Alex Kilbourne. I just think so, mind you—I don’t know for sure. But there seemed to be a lot of tension between them. A man/woman kind of tension. The thing is, I think it occurred to Josie just today that just because a woman was seen with Peter the night he was murdered doesn’t necessarily mean a man couldn’t have killed him. She’s worried. I don’t know if something in particular is bothering her or if it’s a general uneasiness because we don’t know who killed him, but she’s pretty anxious.”
“Think maybe she suspects Alex?”
“Maybe. She said he was at the house Saturday night, but she was awfully quick to defend him. I mean, to say that even though he and Peter didn’t get along, it wasn’t hatred. Ergo, he wouldn’t have murdered him.” Laura shook her head. “I don’t know, she might suspect he had something to do with it.”
“What do you think?”
“I talked to the man for barely a minute, hardly enough time to make that kind of guess.”
“Guess anyway,” Cassidy suggested.
