by Kay Hooper
“What money?”
“The money he was expecting. He said a friend was … investing in his future. Something like that. First he had to do another one of Amelia’s stupid errands, take care of the pitiful bones she threw his way. And then he was going to get his money.”
“What was he going to do with the money?”
“He was going to start his own business.” Anne’s chin lifted defiantly as she looked at Laura. “One to compete with the family. He already had people lined up, managers and designers and computer experts, and he was sure he could take some of those government contracts away from the family. He could have bid lower, you see, outbid the family, and once he got his toe in the door, everybody’d come to him with other contracts. He had it all planned.”
Laura didn’t know much about business, but it seemed to her that Peter’s “plans” had been vague at best. Of course, it was possible that Anne herself was simply vague, that Peter had drawn up more detailed plans, but it still sounded to Laura like the impractical, grandiloquent daydreams of an embittered man who badly wanted to show up his more successful brother.
“When did he tell you about it?” she asked casually. “Not that last night?”
“No, a couple of days before that.”
“But you believe he was killed because he had to win? Because he had to best the family? Best Daniel?”
Anne nodded decidedly. “I think so. I’ll bet it wasn’t a friend he got the money from at all, but one of those shady types he knew. He thought I didn’t know about them, but I did. I saw some of them with him a few times when he didn’t know I was around. I’ll bet anything that he borrowed lots of money from them or talked them into investing in his business, and later, for some reason, they turned against him and killed him.”
With a more logical mind than Anne’s, Laura spotted the fallacy in that argument immediately. With money invested or loaned to Peter, and presumably already spent, why would his “partners” then kill him and so destroy any chance they might have had of getting their money back? It made no sense. But the knowledge that Peter had, apparently, consorted with criminal types made Laura wonder if the field of possible murderers was not wider than any of them had suspected.
“You might be right,” she said.
“I know I am. It’s silly to think some woman killed Peter. He was very strong, you know, and perfectly able to defend himself.”
Laura didn’t bother to tell Anne that, according to the newspapers, Peter had been sitting on the bed when the first blow was struck, and that since the knife had punctured his heart, he had most probably died before he would have even thought about defending himself—hence the acceptable idea that a woman could have done the deed.
“Laura—Oh, Anne, you’re here. Good. Lunch is ready.” Amelia had, as usual, approached quietly, and appeared in the doorway of the conservatory with a suddenness that startled both younger women.
Recovering quickly, Laura laid her brushes aside, and she and Anne accompanied Amelia back inside the house to the dining room. They found Madeline, Kerry, and Josie there waiting for them, and it took Laura the several moments while they all gathered round the table and sat down to figure out what was different.
For the first time she could remember, Josie was not wearing dark colors. She had on a lovely pale green sweater and white slacks and looked both a little vulnerable and radiant.
“Josie, dear, white slacks in October?” Amelia was surprised, just faintly disapproving.
“It’s after Labor Day,” Madeline agreed, but clearly more by rote than out of any real interest.
Laura saw Josie flinch almost imperceptibly, and said, “I think you look terrific, Josie. Pale colors suit you beautifully.” She was perfectly aware of having thwarted Amelia’s attempt to dominate Josie, and she didn’t care. If Amelia was trying to mold the younger widow into a replica of herself—something Laura had suspected since her second visit to the house—then somebody definitely needed to prevent her from succeeding.
Josie sent her a grateful glance and said casually to Amelia, “I think I’ll start wearing brighter colors, Amelia.”
Kerry spoke up then, placid and gentle as usual. “Laura’s right, they suit you.”
Tartly, Amelia said, “Spoken by a woman wearing the most dreadful sweater I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Laura was a little surprised, since Amelia was usually honey-sweet to Kerry even while criticizing her, but Kerry merely smiled at Amelia and unfolded her napkin.
She has her own armor. Laura caught Josie’s glance and knew they shared that thought. Then the uniformed maid came in to serve lunch, and conversation around the table became general.
Laura paid only cursory attention to what was being said. Her mind was occupied by the information Anne had shared about Peter. If anything, she thought, these new facts only clouded an already murky situation. Maybe Peter had been killed by some mysterious underworld figures, but Laura had the notion that if that had been the case, he would most probably have been shot and his body might never have been found. Still, Peter had obviously expected and probably received money from someone in the days before his death, and that might have had some connection to his murder.
People were being killed for money all the time, that was certain. So Peter might have been. If he’d had a large sum of money with him, for instance, he could have been robbed and murdered. What had looked rather like a crime of passion might instead have been one of frantic haste. Or he could have been robbed and killed by a junkie so out of his mind that the repeated stabbing might have seemed reasonable.
Laura shivered a little as her vivid imagination instantly conjured a sickening image, and looked around the table to distract herself. She found that Anne had unfortunately reverted to her previous behavior and was making sulky comments about the food being bland and wondering why it was that her wishes couldn’t be followed occasionally.
“If you want something with more spice,” Amelia told her impatiently, “then order a pizza to be delivered. Cook follows my wishes, Anne, and will continue to do so.”
Anne laughed, an ugly sound. “You mean she will until Daniel decides to take over, don’t you, Amelia? Peter told me all his secrets and all the family secrets. Like that lovely old rumor that you killed your own husband, hit him over the head and pushed him into the swimming pool. Did you, Amelia? Does Daniel have proof? Is that what he’s holding over your head? We both know he’s been the one in charge for years. The one who really runs things. He just lets you pretend, lets you act like you’re the one with the power. He lets you, Amelia.”
“Anne,” Josie warned softly.
“You keep out of it,” Anne snapped. “I’m sick and tired of you always butting in, pouring oil when nobody asked you to, kissing up to Amelia and Daniel—and now Alex, literally. Is he good in bed, Josie? Would Jeremy approve of you screwing his cousin?”
That knife must have been a sharp one, because Josie went white and dropped her gaze to her plate, and didn’t say a word in reply.
Laura had no idea where this sudden venom had come from, and she couldn’t begin to guess what Anne hoped to gain by it—except perhaps some kind of payback for the humiliation she had suffered. Whatever had triggered the change, Anne’s eyes were hard and bright, her mouth was a thin slash in her pale face, and her voice was so brittle a touch would have shattered it.
Laura wished now she had been paying attention to the conversation.
Amelia sat ramrod straight in her chair, two spots of color burning high on her cheekbones and her eyes so dark they were like holes in the world. Kerry continued placidly to eat, while Josie pushed the food around on her plate without looking up. Only Madeline and Laura were looking at Anne, and Madeline wore a slight frown rather than her usual vacant expression.
“Stop saying those things, Anne,” she said. “You know none of it is true.”
Anne lifted her glass in a mocking little toast. “Here’s to Madeline, who wouldn’t admit to trouble in t
he family if it was her ticket into heaven. Let’s see … it’s called omertà in your family, isn’t it, Kerry? The famous vow of silence?”
“Not since we left Italy three generations ago,” Kerry replied somewhat dryly, barely looking up from her plate.
“Well, still, I’m sure you know all about it. Sweet, silent Kerry, with never a harsh word for anybody. A widow without ever being a wife. That’s true, isn’t it, Kerry? Want me to tell them another of Peter’s little secrets?”
Kerry looked at her, and the scarred side of her face darkened, betraying some emotion the rest of her face never showed. Evenly she said, “You’re obviously going to say whatever you want, Anne.”
Before she could, Amelia spoke, sounding more upset than Laura had ever heard her sound. “Anne, if you can’t behave in a civilized manner, leave the table.”
“Leave Daniel’s table, Amelia? Why on earth would I want to leave Daniel’s table? I haven’t heard the master’s voice requesting it—”
“You’re hearing it now.” His voice was very quiet, but it ended Anne’s tirade so abruptly and effectively that it might as well have been a roar. Daniel stepped into the room, his pale gaze fixed on Anne, and granite would have been softer to the touch than his face appeared. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Anne, but this stops now. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”
Whatever scorn she felt for the others, it was obvious Anne respected or feared Daniel too much to fight with him. With those angry spots of color burning in her otherwise pale cheeks, she shoved her chair back, threw her napkin on the table, and rushed past him without a word.
In the thick silence left behind her, Daniel glanced around at each of them, said, “I’ll see to it that doesn’t happen again,” and left the dining room.
Kerry folded her napkin neatly and in a colorless voice said, “Amelia, I believe I’ll go and practice my music. Excuse me, please.”
Amelia didn’t object. In fact, though her own meal was unfinished, she barely waited for Kerry to leave the room before saying, “And I believe I’ll go upstairs for my rest now. Laura, child, do forgive me, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sit for you again today.”
Since she sounded actually frail and looked it, Laura hurried to say, “Don’t worry about it, Amelia, please. I can occupy myself for the day.”
“Thank you, child. Madeline, if you’ll give me your arm …”
“Of course, Amelia.” The two women had lived together in this house for more than thirty years, and whether or not there was affection between them, there was certainly knowledge and a degree of understanding. Madeline rose and offered her arm gravely, and the two women went slowly from the room.
Laura drew a breath and let it out slowly. To Josie, she said, “What got into Anne? I mean, my mind wandered for a minute and I never heard—what set her off?”
“I don’t think there was anything,” Josie replied, obviously baffled. “All I heard Amelia say to her was something about how there was no good reason to change the wallpaper in Anne’s room. Such a trivial thing. But it seemed to be the last straw as far as Anne was concerned, because things went from bad to worse in a hurry.”
“All that … spite … over wallpaper?”
Josie shrugged. “I guess. Or maybe she was still smarting over our having learned her little secret last Saturday and felt like evening the score.”
Laura absently folded her napkin beside her plate. “Daniel said he’d make sure it didn’t happen again.”
Answering the unspoken question, Josie said, “He signs the checks. If anybody can make Anne toe the line, it’s Daniel. He’s always been pretty easygoing with her, I think because he felt sorry for her after she lost her mother the way she did. But today she went way too far.”
“I would say so,” Laura murmured, wondering which of Anne’s venomous barbs had been on target.
Faint color rose in Josie’s cheeks, but her voice was steady enough when she said, “She’s always had it in for me, of course. Amelia says she’s jealous of me, but I think it’s something else. When Alex first came here, she …”
“Was interested?” Laura finished delicately.
“Yeah. I don’t know if he even realized it, but I did. Later, when he and I …”
Laura nodded. “She is the type to take competition badly, and rejection even worse. Um … it’s none of my business, but I think Alex definitely ended up with the right lady.”
Josie smiled at her. “Thanks. You know, he told me everyone in the house knew about us, but I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Secrets don’t live long in this house,” Laura heard herself say.
“Isn’t that the truth. Especially, according to Anne, any secrets Peter knew.” Josie shook her head and pushed back her chair, rising. “Well, I think I’ll go and find something to do at my desk. Unless you’d like some company?”
“No, thanks anyway.” Laura rose as well. “I think I’ll go walk in the gardens before this weird weather turns nasty again.”
“Shall I give you a hint about the maze?” Josie asked with a smile.
Laura hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, please. Dammit.”
“When there are three choices, always pick the middle path.”
Doubtful, Laura said, “That’s a hint?”
Josie laughed. “A good one if you have a decent sense of direction. How long should I give you before sending out a search party?”
“Oh, couple of hours, at least.”
“Done. Enjoy yourself, Laura.”
“I’ll do my best.”
But it wasn’t out of any playful sense of fun that Laura sought out the intricate puzzle of the maze. She had to get out of the house for a while, for one thing, feeling uneasy and anxious as the atmosphere of the place got to her. She needed to be alone, needed to think about a few things. And with the lure of Daniel in the house, so close and so tempting, she needed distance to keep her head clear.
At least, she hoped that would do it.
The storms of the previous night had left the garden glistening in the cool October sunlight, and the air smelled clean. Laura walked briskly along the path to the maze, comfortable in her long sweater and skirt. She met no one along the way, though she did spot a gardener working industriously in a bed of evergreen azaleas about twenty yards from the entrance to the maze. He didn’t look up, and Laura didn’t call attention to herself as she passed through the leafy doorway.
On this bright afternoon, the maze didn’t seem nearly as claustrophobic as it had seemed the first time she’d been here, and she found it wasn’t at all necessary to look up and reassure herself that there was sky above her head. This time, trusting the subconscious that seemed to guide her painting hand so well, she merely walked without worrying over decisions. She found herself choosing the middle path whenever there were three options, but the other choices were made on some level of her mind that seemed to find the maze familiar.
It wasn’t until she reached the center without making a single wrong turn that Laura realized what she had done. In her idle mind, a finger had traced an intricate pattern stamped into brass, following a continuous line that led to the center and the heart holding two initials. The mirror.
She made her way slowly to the gazebo, not noticing the beauty of her surroundings today. Went inside and sat on the foot of the chaise, seeing nothing except the image of the mirror as clear as a photo in her mind.
It had always reminded her of a maze, that pattern, but she simply hadn’t made the connection until now. “Idiot,” she told herself without heat. It had been right in front of her—literally. Seen last night from Daniel’s window, she had finally recognized it subconsciously, because that was the only vantage point she had yet found that showed the entire maze clearly.
But what did it mean? A mirror that was a key to a maze … or a maze fashioned after a one-of-a-kind design on the back of a mirror? The mirror had come first, since it had been commissioned—far away
from here in Philadelphia—in 1800. The maze, according to Josie, had been planted here in the 1950s by David Kilbourne. Was that when the Kilbournes had come into possession of the mirror? Had David bought it somewhere for his wife, and later had the maze follow the mirror’s design?
Would Amelia have tossed unwanted into the attic a gift from her beloved David?
She would have if she really did drown him in their own swimming pool.
Laura leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, frowning. If Amelia had killed her husband, Laura had a strong hunch she wouldn’t be confessing to it, not now after forty years. But would she confess to knowing more about the mirror that had brought Laura here than she had yet admitted? Probably not. It had been more than forty years, after all.
And even if she did say that, yes, it had been a gift from David long ago—so what? She wasn’t likely to remember any more than that; considering the wealth of this family, Amelia had probably gotten a great many gifts in forty years, and one brass mirror would hardly stand out in her mind.
Laura had the depressed feeling that Dena’s final report on the history of the mirror would end with David Kilbourne buying it at a flea market or antique shop somewhere and that would be it. End of story. Nothing to explain why Peter had tried to buy it back from her decades later. No hint that it had had anything to do with his murder. Nothing to explain the evasiveness she felt in Daniel about the mirror.
And certainly nothing to explain why Laura herself had searched all her life for the tarnished brass mirror she had found in the Kilbourne garage one Saturday morning.
Dead end.
“No. It means something. It has to.”
“What means something?”
He had approached without her awareness, which said a lot for the mirror’s power to grip her thoughts and emotions. Now she sat up straight and looked at Daniel, and instantly she had trouble thinking about anything but him.
“What means something?” he repeated, stepping into the gazebo and towering over her. His voice was husky, and when Laura met his gaze she was immediately aware of all the long hours since she had left his bedroom. Too many long hours. Languid heat spread slowly through her, warming and softening the muscles that had been sore earlier, and her heart began to thud hard against her ribs.
