by Kay Hooper
“Why didn’t you let me leave?” Laura asked Daniel. “Before, when I wanted to, why didn’t you let me leave?”
He looked at her, and his face tightened slightly. “You want to know who killed Peter, don’t you, Laura? Then you can’t leave. You can’t run away from any of this.”
He still hadn’t released her wrist, and Laura didn’t try to pull away. She just stood there and looked up at him. “Did you think it was Anne? Is she the one you suspected?”
Daniel hesitated, then said, “I knew she was involved with him.”
“And knew she was capable of murder?”
“It was possible. As I said, suspicion isn’t proof.”
Laura felt his hand slide down over hers, his fingers twine with hers, and she tried to concentrate on what she thought she saw in his face. “But you aren’t very relieved to know she’s probably in the clear—or will be if that cab driver remembers her. Why not?”
“Because it isn’t over.” He squeezed her hand gently, then released it. “Go on with the others, Laura. When Amelia asks, tell her I stayed behind to clear up the broken glass.”
“Daniel—”
“Go on.”
After a moment she obeyed, hesitating at the doorway long enough to look back and find him watching her with the same expression he’d worn in the maze when he had waited for her to give him her hand. Patience. Infinite patience.
Not at all sure why that unnerved her so much, Laura hurried out of the room and after the others, hoping to catch up before Amelia even realized that two had lagged behind.
YET ANOTHER STORM rolled through just after midnight, waking Laura from a restless sleep, and she got out of bed to go to the window and watch. The window was at the back of the house and overlooked the gardens, and Laura had noticed earlier that there were numerous lights out there illuminating the paths as well as some of the shrubs and trees. They lent the gardens an eerie appearance as rain sheeted down and the wind yanked the trees back and forth viciously. Shadows leaped and crawled like living things, seeming to jerk and tremble in terror when the thunder boomed and lightning flashed.
Laura had always enjoyed watching storms even if she hated driving in them, so she leaned against the window casing and watched, absently rubbing her left arm to soothe the ache. She didn’t expect the storm to last long, and within minutes the rain had slacked off to a hesitant drizzle and the wind died to a fitful breeze. Thunder still rumbled distantly, and there was an occasional streak of lightning across the dark sky, but it was apparent that the storm had spent most of its fury.
She was just about to go crawl back into the very comfortable four-poster bed when a hint of movement below just outside the conservatory caught her attention. Someone was leaving the house, she realized, hurrying across the veranda and down into the gardens. It was difficult to be sure, but Laura thought it was a woman.
The figure was cloaked in some long and shapeless garment, and there wasn’t enough light to enable Laura to see any identifying characteristics, so she could only speculate as she watched whoever it was hurry along one of the garden paths and disappear among the trees.
Someone, it seemed, had a late appointment. But who was it? And where was she going?
Chapter 9
You mean everything just … went on as usual?” Cassidy demanded incredulously.
“As if nothing had happened.” Laura handed her friend a cup of hot chocolate and then curled up in a chair across from her with her own cup. “Nobody said another word about it. Very polite small talk at the dinner table, and afterward Kerry played the piano for us. Beautifully, by the way. But it was as if that cop had never been there, as if none of us knew who was with Peter in that motel room before he was killed. Anne didn’t come downstairs again last night, and I didn’t see her at all today.”
“What about Daniel?”
Laura looked down at her drink. “Him either. Josie said at breakfast that he’d had to go into the city for the day with Alex.”
“So you didn’t get a chance to talk to him again after he said in the parlor that it wasn’t over yet?”
“No. He came along to dinner just a few minutes after I did, but he didn’t say much at all, and he slipped out at some point while Kerry was playing for us later.” Laura shrugged. “The only good thing to happen, from my point of view, was that Madeline apparently decided to accept me being there. She was very polite, sweet even. Treated me pretty much the way she does Josie, as if we were a couple of nice young nieces.”
“Well,” Cassidy said dryly, “after Anne’s little confession, Madeline probably felt pretty sure you weren’t the one involved with Peter.”
Nodding agreement, Laura said, “Which leaves us with a very big question. Who killed him? If that cop can verify that Anne left the motel at eleven-thirty, with Peter very much alive, and went on to her party, then she’s in the clear. His body was found around one A.M. and the medical examiner puts the time of death at just about midnight. Anne couldn’t have gotten back in time to kill him, and besides, witnesses put her at the party around midnight. So … who went into that motel room, just minutes after Anne left, and stabbed Peter to death?”
“You think it was one of the family?”
“I … don’t know. Amelia and Daniel both seem to have airtight alibis. Madeline didn’t do it; I flat-out don’t believe in mothers killing their grown sons, especially not this mother. Anne may be in the clear. Kerry was in California. That leaves Alex and Josie—and she said Alex was at the house that night.”
“But you said she was worried?”
“Yeah. And she’s still tense, preoccupied. Either she knows something or she suspects something. Alex … I don’t know. I still can’t see him stabbing a man to death, but I’ve hardly spoken to him.”
Cassidy frowned. “You said that Anne said something about Peter dying because of the way the family conducted business—what about that?”
“That’s been bothering me,” Laura admitted. “She could have just been shooting off her mouth—I’d say she’s the type to do that—but she seemed awfully certain. And she also said Peter had had plans, and that Daniel wasn’t the only one who could make money for the family.”
“Which means?”
“I don’t know. But Anne was in that motel room with Peter the night he died, and she said it was their second time together. So since she was the woman he was sleeping with, he might have told her something. I mean … he might have been involved in some kind of business deal that maybe went wrong somehow. Maybe he stayed at the motel after she left because he was planning to meet someone else there. And that someone killed him.”
“Doesn’t that argue pretty shady business?” Cassidy wondered. “Would a Kilbourne have been involved in something like that? It’s not like he needed the money.”
Laura thought about it briefly. “If I’m reading the family right, Peter was virtually shut out of any meaningful family business, except whatever crumbs Amelia threw his way. And my understanding confirms what you picked up from the tabloids: when Amelia goes, Daniel’s left in sole charge. Time was running out for Peter. Maybe he did need to show the family he could—I don’t know—put a big deal together, or something. And to do that, maybe he had to walk the shady side of the street.”
“So how can you find out if that’s true?”
Laura’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “The same way I’ve found out what little I already know, I guess. Poke around and ask questions, and listen when they talk to me.”
Cassidy looked at her curiously. “You’re … different about this now. Do you realize that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Still studying her friend, Cassidy spoke slowly. “When you first went to the Kilbourne house, you were … uncomfortable with the whole idea. You didn’t like being there because they were mourning Peter—or should have been—and because you were a suspect in his murder. But you felt like a suspect in the murder and you wanted to find o
ut if that mirror had anything to do with it. So you went. And then you were uneasy because some kind of power struggle was going on between Amelia and Daniel, and whatever it was made you feel like a pawn.”
“Yes. So?”
“So now you’re different. You’ve been drawn in to the family, into their personalities and lives. But your priorities seem to have shifted. You don’t feel like a suspect anymore. You seem to be almost avoiding the issue of the mirror. I mean, even though you asked Daniel about it, you didn’t push him, didn’t tell him you knew he was lying about it. You just let him deny everything. And, Laura, you do realize, don’t you, that you’ve already chosen sides in this power struggle you don’t even understand?”
Laura didn’t respond for a moment, but finally she looked at Cassidy with a faint smile. “You know, I keep telling myself that Amelia is probably right. Daniel is a dangerous man. I know nothing about him, and I feel too much, and I can’t escape the belief that his—his secrets have something to do with me. Half the time I want to run from him, and the other half …”
“You want to run to him?”
With a faint sound that might have been an unsteady laugh, Laura said, “Exactly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Cass, you know me. I’m so cautious about men, you’ve laughed at me for years over it. But this man, a man I’ve known barely a week, has somehow managed to get under my skin. And he’s done it almost despite himself. When he hasn’t been expressionless, he’s been enigmatic, showing barely more emotion than a sphinx. He’s lied to me consistently. He believed, at least for a while, that I was his brother’s mistress and possibly his murderess. And he’s touched my hand. Only my hand. Now, does that sound like a man a woman should find herself obsessed with?”
“Should? Maybe not, Laura. But you obviously are, so what does should have to do with anything?”
Accepting the truth of that with another sound of spurious amusement, Laura leaned her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes briefly. Then she opened them and looked at her friend. “Amelia’s asked me to stay at the house this weekend. I’m considering it.”
Uneasy, Cassidy said, “I know you stayed last night and nothing terrible happened, but, Laura, do you think it’s a good idea to go on staying at the house? You said it was oppressive, for one thing, that the house itself made you apprehensive. That doesn’t sound too good to me. And you still don’t know that someone in that family didn’t kill Peter. For that matter, you don’t know that Amelia didn’t kill someone years ago. Daniel himself told you he suspected her of murdering his grandfather, and you said he didn’t lie about that.”
“He didn’t lie—but suspicion isn’t proof,” Laura said, conscious of echoing Daniel’s words.
“Okay, granted. Maybe the old lady’s perfectly innocent of killing her own husband; after forty years and her spotless reputation, we should probably give her the benefit of the doubt. And maybe, just maybe, none of the family killed Peter. But there’s still that thing going on between Daniel and Amelia—and pawns are sacrificed, Laura. That’s why they’re in the game.”
“I know, I know,” Laura murmured.
“Do you? You don’t seem to have too many defenses where Daniel is concerned, and you’re not real good at hiding your feelings. So what if he’s recognized the beginning of an obsession? Do you really think it’s a good idea to sleep in a bedroom just down a short hallway from his?”
Laura started to correct Cassidy, to say that Daniel’s room was down a long hallway from the guest suite—in a different wing of the house, in fact. Josie had conducted her through the entire second floor of the big house Laura’s second day there, so she knew where everyone slept. But she realized she was focusing on trivialities in order to avoid the real issue, and so said instead, “Probably not.”
Patiently, Cassidy said, “Then why are you considering doing just that?”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Don’t let that stop you. I already think so.”
Laura sighed. “All right. I’m considering staying at the house this weekend because I have this weird feeling that I have to be there.”
Cassidy stared at her. “A weird feeling. Laura, is this one of those peculiar things about you that you can’t even explain—like why Christmas depresses you horribly, or why you can’t cut your hair?”
The latter “peculiar” thing had started when Laura was about five or so. In her family of eight children, money had been tight, and so her mother had saved a few dollars by cutting her children’s hair herself. Once a month or so, she would line her children up to take their turn sitting in a kitchen chair with a towel pinned around their necks while she—quite skillfully—cut their hair.
However, around the age of five or six, Laura had begun to fight her mother. She could, vaguely, remember it even now, remember sobbing and feeling a terrible grief and pain she couldn’t have put into words even if there had been words within a desperate little girl to explain the inexplicable. The battles had grown worse and worse, with Laura becoming nearly hysterical whenever her turn came, until finally her exasperated and baffled mother had elected to let Laura wear her hair long.
Hardly aware that she was speaking aloud, Laura murmured, “I cut it short once when I was sixteen and rebelling. It nearly broke my heart. I felt as if I’d somehow betrayed someone. And I didn’t know who—or why.”
“I remember you telling me about it,” Cassidy said, recalling Laura’s attention to the present. “So, is this feeling that you need to spend the weekend at the Kilbourne house the same kind of thing?”
“Yes—no. I don’t know, Cass. Every time I set foot in that house, I feel so much that it’s hard to sort one thing from another. I just … I just think I need to be there this weekend.”
“So you’ll go over there tomorrow with a bag packed for the weekend?”
Laura hesitated, then nodded. “I think so, yes.”
Cassidy leaned forward to set her cup on the coffee table, and then picked up the mirror Laura had been staring at when she’d come in. “Going to take this with you?” she asked.
“Yes.” Laura hadn’t even realized it was in her mind until she said it.
“Why? I get the feeling you’re fairly sure now that it had nothing to do with how or why Peter was killed. That’s true, isn’t it, Laura? This mirror … it’s between you and Daniel now, isn’t it?”
“He lied about it. He knows something about it.”
Cassidy set the mirror down gently and then leaned back, frowning at her friend. “I think I was wrong before. You haven’t been ignoring the mirror at all, have you? It’s more important to you now than it was at first. Why? Because Daniel lied?”
Laura managed a smile. “Stop asking me questions I can’t answer, Cass.”
““You’re very frustrating as a friend, you know that?”
“I’m amazed you’ve put up with me so long,” Laura said gravely.
“Yeah, well, so am I.” But Cassidy was smiling ruefully. “Look, call me every night from the house, will you? Tell me what’s been going on, reassure me that you haven’t developed the habit of walking in your sleep—down that hallway to Daniel’s room. Okay?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Laura said.
“IT’S A BIT late to be out here, isn’t it?” Alex asked as he stepped into the gazebo.
Josie looked up with a start, and stared at him for a moment before glancing around the gazebo as if she expected to see a clock. “Is it?”
“Nearly eleven.” He had changed, as she had, from the more formal clothing he’d worn for dinner, and was dressed now in jeans and a sweatshirt, and Josie couldn’t help wondering if he’d come out here in search of her or if this was another of his nighttime rambles.
“If Amelia wants me—” she began.
“I’m not Amelia’s messenger boy,” he said a bit sharply.
His edginess didn’t do much to ease her own, and Josie frowned at him. “Sorry.”
&
nbsp; Alex drew a breath and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Look, I saw you from my window as you crossed the veranda, and I thought …” He shrugged. “I thought that since I was getting awfully damned tired of this polite dance we’ve been doing all week, I’d come out here and—try to change the music.”
“Change it how?” She felt at a slight disadvantage, since she was leaning back in the chaise and he was on his feet, looming over her, but she didn’t move to get up.
“Would it help if I apologized?”
Josie swung her feet to the floor, but still didn’t get up. With an effort, she kept her face expressionless. “I’d say that all depends. Would you mean it?”
He opened his mouth as if for a quick affirmative, but then hesitated. Finally he shook his head. “No, dammit, I probably wouldn’t. I still don’t want three of us in my bed.”
“And I still can’t help how I feel,” she said steadily. “I—I don’t know why I can’t let him go, Alex.”
“Maybe because you loved him,” he said just as steadily.
Josie nodded slightly, even though she had more or less faced a different truth days ago. It wasn’t because she had loved him that she couldn’t let go of her dead husband. It was because his memory, painless now, was safe and shielded her heart, and if she let it go, there would be nothing protecting her from being hurt again.
“Josie?”
She looked up at him, at that handsome face and those shrewd, perceptive greenish eyes, and the jolt of pain she felt told her that she might not, in the end, have a choice to make. With or without her assent, it seemed that her shield was weakening. Because something else was, suddenly, stronger.
“Josie …” He stepped to the chaise and went down on one knee, both his hands covering hers as they lay in her lap. “I was an idiot, all right? I pushed you, and I shouldn’t have. I won’t make that mistake again.”
