by Kay Hooper
The secret sketch of Daniel was gone, torn neatly from the pad.
And Laura didn’t know which possibility unnerved her more. That Daniel had taken it—or that someone else had.
Chapter 8
Amelia didn’t mention Laura’s having been with Daniel until later in the afternoon, when Laura was just finishing up a sketch of Amelia against the background of the elegant marble fireplace in the front parlor.
“Did you enjoy the maze, child?”
Laura, who had been trying very hard without much success to not think of her subject as a possible murderess, answered more or less at random. “Very much. And the center’s absolutely beautiful.”
“You found your way there so quickly?”
“Well, no. Actually, I was lost.”
“Then Daniel took you to the center?” Though her voice was pleasant, something in the way she asked the question made her displeasure evident.
“It was about to start raining,” Laura said. “The gazebo was the closest shelter.” Aware that she sounded a bit defensive, she added hastily, “I’m going to have to figure out the key to the maze; even though I enjoyed wandering through it, going directly to the center certainly has its own rewards. It’s a wonderful maze, Amelia.”
“Yes, David loved it,” Amelia said. “I haven’t been out there in years, I’m afraid.”
The implication was clear—that the old lady couldn’t bear to spend time in a place her dead husband had loved so much. Laura looked at Amelia over the top of the sketchpad, studying that aged but still elegant face, those enigmatic dark eyes and the faint, sad smile, and she tried to imagine what Amelia must have been like forty years before. Could she have had something of Anne’s wired anger and discontent? Could there have been rage enough in her then to drive her to hit her husband with something heavy enough to kill him?
And could she, afterward, mourn him so devotedly for decades?
Laura closed her sketchpad and, abruptly, before she lost her nerve, asked, “Amelia, why did you warn me about Daniel?”
“Because I’m concerned about you, child.” The reply was prompt, and Amelia did look suddenly anxious. “You’re a beautiful young woman, and Daniel isn’t immune to that. But he’s a hard man, Laura. He … uses people. I don’t want him to use you.”
It sounded reasonable enough on the face of it—an elderly lady’s concern for the vulnerable heart of a young friend. But Laura didn’t quite believe it. Amelia’s first warning had been too intense, her demeanor too nervous, almost frightened, and that had suggested more a fear for Laura’s physical well-being than concern over her love life. Yet now the old lady claimed merely to be worried that her grandson might seduce, and presumably abandon, Laura. It didn’t ring true. It was almost as if Amelia had thought about it in the days since and had decided—for whatever reason—that a less agitated and more specific warning might carry more weight.
After a moment, Laura said mildly, “Thank you for your concern, Amelia, but I’m twenty-eight, not eighteen. And I’m no innocent.”
If anything, Amelia looked even more anxious. “I’m sure you think so, child, but I doubt very much if you’ve encountered a man like Daniel before. He is dangerous, in his way. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, and he doesn’t care who he hurts. Just … be careful, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t believe everything he tells you.” Her face changed slightly, and she added softly, “Peter charmed his way through life. Daniel is far more ruthless. He doesn’t let anyone get in his way.”
“You aren’t at all likely to … get in her way,” Daniel had said.
It didn’t surprise Laura that the words were so similar, because she was certain both Amelia and Daniel wanted something, that they were quietly and subtly battling each other for what they wanted, and that each of them was already, in some way, using Laura against the other.
What she couldn’t figure out because it was all so subtle was exactly what was going on and how she, a virtual stranger, could be involved. How could she be used—as a weapon or a pawn—when she had no stake in their battle?
Or did she?
Finally, Laura said, “I’ll be careful, Amelia.” Then she smiled. “But I think you’re exaggerating both my appeal and Daniel’s interest—to say nothing of my own. I’m here to paint your portrait, that’s all.”
Amelia nodded, though she was patently unconvinced.
Laura was just about to say that she should probably be on her way home when the storm that had been lurking about all afternoon chose that moment to attack. And it definitely sounded like an attack. Thunder boomed so strongly that the walls and windows of the big house vibrated audibly, wind-driven rain pelted the windows, and a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the room.
Frowning, Amelia said, “Laura, you can’t drive home in this mess. It wouldn’t be at all safe to be on the roads now. Why don’t you just stay the night? We have a room all ready for you.”
“Thank you, Amelia, but surely it’ll slack off in a little while—”
Another rolling boom of thunder kept Amelia from answering for a moment, but then she said, “According to the forecast, we’ll have a series of storms all evening. Stay, Laura, please. For my peace of mind if nothing else.”
Laura really didn’t like to drive in the rain, let alone a storm. Besides which, refusing Amelia’s courteous—and practical—invitation would have been rude in the extreme, and although Laura found the house too dark and stifling to be very comfortable, she didn’t want to make that fact obvious to Amelia.
Nodding, she said, “Thank you, Amelia, it’s very kind of you.”
“Oh, nonsense, child. I’ve wanted you to stay here from the beginning, as well you know.” Amelia got to her feet, a bit more briskly than usual and seemingly not in the least stiff from sitting so long. “Now, why don’t I show you to your room? You can rest awhile if you like. We have dinner at six.”
As Laura rose, she glanced down at her slacks, knit shirt, and casual linen blazer, and thought that while she looked okay for supper, she was undoubtedly underdressed for dinner at the Kilbourne house. But before she could comment, Amelia was going on matter-of-factly.
“You and Kerry should wear the same size, I think, so we should be able to find you something to sleep in. As for dinner, I ask that everyone dress for that meal as they would a meal out at a nice restaurant; I’m sure Kerry can find you a pretty dress or skirt.”
Laura felt more than a little disturbed by the idea of sharing clothing with Peter’s widow, but told herself firmly not to be absurd. As long as Kerry didn’t mind, of course.
“She won’t mind?” she asked Amelia.
“Not at all, she’s a very sweet girl. I’ll see her after I take you to your room.”
Laura found herself following meekly after Amelia. Ten minutes later she was standing alone in the largest of four guest suites on the second floor of the main section of the house, looking around her with an odd feeling of unreality. The suite consisted of a bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom, all sized generously. There was a private phone line for the convenience of guests, Amelia had said, and the television in the sitting room was, of course, hooked up to cable.
The suite was the prettiest set of rooms Laura had seen in the house, and not nearly as dark as most of the other rooms seemed to be. The wallpaper was a bit ornate, and the four-poster bed had a canopy with elaborate flowing draperies, but the filmy curtains at the big windows let in plenty of light, the furniture was delicate rather than heavy, and there was a working fireplace in the sitting room.
“I shouldn’t have luggage,” Laura muttered to herself. “I should have trunks.” She had never in her life been in a private home with this kind of elegant, ostentatious accommodations for guests. In fact, she hadn’t realized that such places still existed.
Then again, how many private homes had grounds with extensive gardens and a four-acre maze?
Shaking her head a little, Laura found herself drawn across
the sitting room to a mirror hanging above a side table. As always. And as always, when she reached it she stood looking at the reflection of the room behind her as it appeared over her right shoulder. But whatever she was looking for wasn’t there, and the room seemed oddly empty.
She turned away finally and glanced at her watch, seeing that it was four-thirty. After a moment’s thought, she used the private phone line to call Cassidy and leave a message on her answering machine.
“Hi, Cass, it’s me. Guess where I’m sleeping tonight?”
IT WAS FIVE when there was a soft knock at the sitting room door, and Laura answered it to find Kerry. The younger woman, who was wearing a dark terrycloth robe and smelled of soap, had an armful of clothing and smiled tentatively in greeting.
“Hello, Laura.”
“Hi, Kerry.” Laura stepped back in invitation, and as Kerry came into the sitting room, added, “Look, I hope you don’t mind, but Amelia—”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Kerry placed the clothing over the back of a chair and turned to smile less hesitantly. “I imagine Amelia didn’t give you much choice, anyway—about wearing some of my clothes, I mean. She can be a bit … overpowering.”
“You can say that again.”
“She likes things done a certain way here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Life is more … peaceful … when the rest of us go along.”
Laura looked at Kerry’s plain, scarred face with its clear, gentle hazel eyes, and wished suddenly that she could spend more time with this woman. She had a feeling that of all the women in this house, Kerry would turn out to be the most complex. And the most interesting.
“We meet downstairs in the front parlor at six,” she told Laura helpfully. “Dinner is actually at six-thirty. Amelia likes to hear what everyone’s done during the day before we sit down to eat. And she likes us to dress well—whether elegant clothes suit us or not.”
“I see. Thank you,” Laura said, wondering absently what kind of clothing Kerry would prefer, given a choice.
“I picked out a few things for you to choose from,” Kerry went on with a glance at the clothing she’d put down. “Long skirts, I thought, to better match your shoes. Mine would be two sizes too large.”
Laura couldn’t help looking down to compare, and thought that the other woman would wear a size or two larger than her own size six. “That was very thoughtful,” she said gratefully. “It had just occurred to me that loafers aren’t too dressy.”
Kerry smiled. “These days, when women are wearing clunky boots with thin skirts, I don’t think it would matter very much. But these should do fine. And don’t be self-conscious; Amelia’s been trying to dress me properly for years now, and I can’t seem to satisfy her. I’m her project.”
There was nothing of self-consciousness in Kerry’s soft voice; if anything, she seemed amused by her failure to live up to Amelia’s standards. Once again, Laura thought that she’d really like to get to know this woman. But, of course, I had to be suspected of her husband’s murder. And of being his latest mistress.
“I imagine most people fall short of Amelia’s expectations,” Laura said a bit wryly.
“Sooner or later,” Kerry agreed, again with that hint of amusement. “Now I’d better go finish getting ready, and leave you to. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask, Laura. My room is in the west wing—the first room on the right.”
“Thanks, Kerry.”
“Don’t mention it.”
When she was alone again in the sitting room, Laura went through the things Kerry had left for her. A very pretty long nightgown and matching robe; a simple black ankle-length dress; a dark green skirt and blouse; and a royal blue dress. Everything was in excellent taste—for Laura. She saw immediately that the outfits had been chosen with care and with her coloring in mind, and she knew the styles would suit her beautifully.
Which was interesting, Laura thought. Because Kerry had picked from her own closet clothing that would look wonderful on Laura and yet was clearly wrong for Kerry’s angular body and washed-out coloring. In other words, she had displayed excellent taste in dressing another woman in her own clothes.
Laura had a hunch that Kerry’s seeming inability to dress “properly” enough to suit Amelia was less a matter of ineptness and more a matter of gentle rebellion. No woman, Laura thought, who moved with Kerry’s sensuous grace could fail to know how to wear clothing well, even if she chose not to. It was another sign of an interesting and complex personality.
Thinking about that, Laura went to take a quick shower, ruefully amused to find in the bathroom a basket of toiletries that included everything from a new toothbrush wrapped in plastic and a selection of shampoos and skin care lotions to a set of very nice combs and brushes. Either the Kilbournes—meaning Amelia—believed in being prepared for the unprepared guest, or else Amelia had fully expected Laura to spend a night here sooner or later.
Laura decided not to think about that too much. She showered and then got dressed, choosing the black dress because her loafers were black and also because she knew black was one of her best colors; the extra measure of confidence, she figured, couldn’t hurt.
She freed her long hair from its braid and brushed it out. There was so much of it—enough for three people, her hairdresser claimed—that she seldom left it loose, but she did now because it seemed to suit the simple, almost Oriental style of the dress. She had only the makeup in her purse, which meant foundation and lipstick, but since that was all she normally wore, it was enough.
It was ten minutes to six when Laura gathered her nerve and left her suite to go downstairs. The quiet struck her immediately, especially since she’d had the TV in her sitting room on just for the company. Was it another of Amelia’s ideas of how things should be done that it was always so quiet in the house?
She went down the broad staircase and crossed the foyer to the front parlor, which was across from the library. She expected at least several family members to be already in the room, but there was only one.
Daniel.
He was standing at the marble fireplace, where a cheerful gas-log fire crackled in the hearth and sought to both warm the slightly chilly room and provide a comforting contrast to the storm rumbling outside. He didn’t realize she was there immediately, and in the moment or so before he did, Laura took advantage of the rare opportunity to study him without his awareness.
The dark suit he wore was sober, the tie tasteful and conservative, yet neither could diminish or disguise the latent power of his body; Daniel Kilbourne could never be unobtrusive. He would always be noticed. Particularly, she thought, by women. At least, that was the reason she offered to herself for this growing hunger inside her every time she saw him.
That had to be the reason.
He gazed down into the fire, the flickering light throwing an occasional shadow to make his face appear masklike. Yet he was not, now, as enigmatic as he had always seemed to Laura. For the first time, she saw a hint of strain around his mouth, and the frown drawing his brows together looked very much like worry. She thought, looking at him, that he was beginning to feel the burdens he carried.
He looked up then, seeing her, and just as in the maze, Laura felt that it was suddenly difficult to breathe. She couldn’t look away from him, and her heart was thudding against her ribs, and she was so powerfully drawn to him that she felt an almost physical tugging at some deep part of her. She could have sworn there was a flashing response in his pale eyes, a heat as vivid and real as the fire crackling beside him. She could have sworn he—almost—reached out to her.
But then he moved his head slightly, and it was gone. It was all gone.
“Good evening, Laura.” He was polite, his voice pleasant and detached.
I’ve got to stop imagining this! I’ve got to … “Good evening.” Her voice was calm, she thought, so at least she wasn’t making a total fool of herself.
“The others should be down shortly. Would you like a drink?” He no
dded toward the wet bar in the corner by the door.
“No, thank you.” She moved farther into the room, circling around the grouping of sofas, chair, and coffee table before the fireplace to take up a position behind one of the sofas and near the windows. She had half-consciously put most of the room in front of her, with her back to the wall, and it was only as she did so that she realized just how wary and unsettled she felt.
Daniel didn’t appear to notice or, if he did, chose not to comment.
“You were wise to decide to stay the night,” he said, as thunder crashed and rolled and the sounds of the wind outside became audible.
Laura wondered if Amelia had told him, or if he had simply assumed when she appeared dressed for dinner, but didn’t ask. “I hate being out in a storm,” she said. “Driving in one, I mean.”
“Most people do.” He continued to look at her with detachment.
Laura felt a flicker of irritation, wondering if he had any intention of moving beyond banal small talk; somehow she didn’t think so. Looking at him now, she could hardly believe he had, only hours earlier, told her that he believed his grandmother had murdered his grandfather.
Oh, hell, maybe I imagined that too …
“Hey, thought I’d be the last one down. Where is everybody?” Alex strolled into the room, his dark suit sober and formal, and his necktie spotted with bright green frogs in various stages of leaping. He nodded at Laura, seemingly unsurprised to find her still here.
Rather than answering the question, Daniel said, “Care to be bartender?”
“Sure. What’ll you have?”
“Scotch.”
Alex nodded. “Laura?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Alex went to the wet bar and fixed drinks for himself and Daniel. He had just taken his glass to Daniel and returned to the bar when Josie and Kerry came in. “Ladies?” he asked, indicating his role with a sweeping gesture.
Josie shook her head and Kerry asked for a small whiskey. When she came in a moment later, Anne requested Scotch.
