Kit broke off. She had adored her adopted little brother who had drowned one night last summer at la Belle. Finally, she said, “I think Jamie’s death sent Mother over the edge. As for Gavin, he can’t leave her if he wants to end up with a penny of her money, and she won’t let him go voluntarily with a nice settlement. He’s too greedy and too much of a weakling to just walk away empty-handed. So, her retribution for Jamie is to hang on to Gavin and make his life miserable. And she does. Sometimes I could almost feel sorry for Gavin.” Kit paused. “Almost.”
“If Lucas is focusing on Gavin as a suspect, he hasn’t said anything to me.” Adrienne took a sip of her coffee. “Of course he wouldn’t. No one could ever accuse Lucas Flynn of having loose lips. I do know he’s worried about Lottie, though. Before he left here this morning, he told me they still haven’t found her. She might not even know Julianna is dead.”
“She does.”
Adrienne looked at Kit in surprise. “You’ve seen her?”
“Last night at the restaurant.” Kit had brought her purse into the kitchen with her and fished inside for a pack of cigarettes and her gold, engraved lighter. Adrienne tapped her fingers on the kitchen table impatiently while Kit lighted her cigarette and drew on it, slowly blowing out smoke. Finally Adrienne said, “Well, are you going to tell me about Lottie or not?”
“If you’re going to take that tone with me, I won’t tell you anything at all.”
They had been friends for too many years to get angry with each other over a flare-up of annoyance, particularly in a nerve-wracking situation like Julianna’s murder. Besides, Adrienne noticed how Kit’s fingers trembled as she brought the cigarette to her mouth a second time.
“Lottie came to the restaurant last night,” Kit finally said again. “She sat outside in the gazebo looking at the lights on the trees. She said she felt better in my ‘magical garden.'” Kit took a sip of coffee and another drag on her cigarette. “She said she’d known when she woke up yesterday morning something had happened to Juli. There was something about an owl hooting and one of her bad feelings. She went on about la Belle being a place of doom just like Mother does, and she mentioned Juli being involved with someone. She didn’t say who, but apparently she knew they met at la Belle.”
Kit drew a deep breath and looked over at the pot of vibrant red begonias hanging in front of the window as if she couldn’t meet Adrienne’s eyes. “She was rambling more than usual, but what really frightened me is that she had some blood on her dress and she smelled of I’ Heure Bleue.”
“Julianna’s perfume,” Adrienne murmured.
Kit nodded. “And you know how spotless Lottie keeps those old dresses of hers. If she’d gotten blood on a dress from a cut on herself, she would have scrubbed it out. Unless it was Juli’s and she picked it up at the same time as the perfume scent.” Kit looked over at Adrienne, her eyes anguished. “Adrienne, she was at la Belle yesterday morning. She touched Juli’s body. And for some reason, she didn’t call the police.”
Adrienne was appalled that Lottie had seen her beautiful daughter dead. Then the significance of Kit’s words hit her. “Lottie knew Julianna had been murdered but she didn’t call the police? What are you implying? That she killed Juli?”
“I don’t know,” Kit said miserably. “She said what Julianna was doing was wrong. And you know how strange Lottie is.”
Adrienne had always cared about Lottie and everything in her fought what Kit seemed to be saying. “Kit, Lottie is eccentric. So is your mother.” Kit gave her a reproachful look. “Don’t get mad. You know it. They’re both odd, but they were two impressionable girls who grew up together and influenced each other. And they’ve both had bad—well, terrible—experiences at la Belle. They both hate it. But being unusual is a far cry from being a killer. You can’t believe Lottie killed her own daughter!”
“Oh, I don’t.” Kit stubbed out her cigarette. “But why didn’t she call the police? And last night, when I went in the restaurant to get her some tea, she disappeared. This morning I went to her cabin. She wasn’t there and I don’t think she’d even been there since yesterday morning because her cat Calypso was sitting on the porch meowing to beat the band. She was hungry, and you know Lottie would never let Calypso go hungry if she were around.”
“Lucas said they were still looking for Lottie yesterday afternoon. Honestly, with the shock of the break-ins, I forgot to ask him about her this morning.” Adrienne frowned. “Of course she’s gone wandering for a day or two before, but these circumstances are different.” She paused. “I should go feed Calypso.”
“I took her back to my apartment.”
“You’re keeping Calypso?”
“Because she means so much to Lottie.” Kit had always tried to play tough girl. She hated for people to think she had a soft heart. “I dropped her off at the apartment with a can of tuna and a bowl of milk. After I leave here, I’m going to Wal-Mart for a litter box and some more cat food.”
“And catnip and a scratch pad.”
“Good idea. And maybe some treats.”
Adrienne grinned. “You’ve never had a pet, Kit. Are you sure you want to take in Calypso? You could just stop at the cabin each day and feed her until Lottie comes home.”
Kit looked at her gravely. “That’s the problem, Adrienne. I have this sickening feeling that Lottie will never come home again.”
4
That night Adrienne lay sleepless, mentally ticking off the points in favor of her staying in Point Pleasant. First, there was her job. She’d been teaching part-time for three years and she had a good chance of being hired full-time at the end of this summer. Unless she abandoned her summer classes in mid-semester when no one else was available to take over. Such unreliability would put an end to any hopes of a full-time job that would solve her money worries, and perhaps even knock her out of the part-time position. No, she couldn’t take that risk. She had a daughter to support
As for continuing to live in the house, she couldn’t afford a motel room for an indefinite stay for her and Skye as well as kennel fees for Brandon. Kit lived in an elegant but small one-bedroom apartment above her restaurant. She didn’t have room for them, although Adrienne knew she would gladly have taken them in. And finally, Adrienne could not risk Rachel’s safety by moving into the Hamilton home.
No, staying in her own home was her only option. And she’d taken precautions. All doors and windows had new locks and the house now sported a new security system installed this afternoon, its cost taken care of by a loan from Vicky. Adrienne had decided she would never leave Skye here by herself, especially at night. And although Lucas said that at this time he didn’t have the manpower to provide full-time surveillance, a patrol car would come by three or four times a night.
All of her reasons for remaining in her home in Point Pleasant made perfect sense—the only sense considering her circumstances—until she remembered the words scrawled on her mirror: Threatening words written in lipstick that looked like blood.
Adrienne glanced at the bedside clock. One-fifteen. She’d been trying to sleep since eleven. She got up, went to the kitchen, poured milk into a mug, and put it in the microwave. When it was warm, she added a dash of brandy and carried her drink to the big rose-colored studio chair in the living room. The only illumination came from a small dusk-to-dawn fixture set near her front door whose light seeped in the picture window across from her chair but faded to pathetic weakness by the time it reached the street. And naturally, she thought, the giant, strong streetlight placed near her house on Hawthorne Way had flickered out earlier this evening and wouldn’t be fixed by the electric company until later in the week.
More lights, Adrienne thought as she curled up in the chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her. That’s a precaution she hadn’t thought of in the daylight. She would call tomorrow and have two stronger dusk-to-dawn lights placed in her yard, one in front, one in back. Maybe even three lights. The glare of lights would elicit complaints from the nei
ghbors, but safety was her main concern, not fussy neighbors.
Her thoughts stopped as she saw the gleam of headlights piercing the darkness. Then came a car—a car that slowed as it passed her house. She held her breath, squinting although she had near-perfect vision. Then she saw almost neon-yellow stripes on the car’s silver body. A police cruiser checking the house, just like Lucas had promised.
Adrienne relaxed, slightly comforted. She took another sip of her cooling milk and brandy. She would go back to bed as soon as she finished her drink, she promised herself. She would go back to bed and sleep because she had to go to the art gallery tomorrow to deliver one of her paintings that would be entered in the contest held during the summer gala next week, and she had to teach a class in the evening. Just Art Appreciation 101, which she’d taught so many times she could do it without thinking, but she still needed to work up enthusiasm. If she acted bored by her subject, the students quickly picked up on her vibes and also lost interest.
Another set of headlights lanced the night. The patrol car had passed just ten minutes ago, so this car must belong to someone who lived on the barely traveled street, Adrienne thought. Few of her neighbors were night owls, though, so she looked with curiosity at the car creeping by her house. She didn’t recognize it. It was smaller than most of the cars that belonged to neighbors. And it was going so slowly.
Apprehension tingled along Adrienne’s spine. She didn’t know a lot about car models, but this one looked to be a two-door with a long hood and short trunk area. People in this neighborhood favored the huge, gas-guzzling sport utility vehicles she hated but had bought to accommodate her art supplies and a frequent passenger, Brandon. Adrienne leaned forward and looked more closely at the unfamiliar car. Because of the bad light, she couldn’t tell if it was dark green, blue, or black. It didn’t stop in front of her house or do anything suspicious. Still, she didn’t like the idea of an unfamiliar car inching past her house at 1:40 in the morning.
“Two nights ago I wouldn’t have thought a thing about it,” she murmured as her hand reached for the phone to call Lucas. Then she paused. He had looked exhausted this morning. He needed an undisturbed night’s sleep. Besides, it was one thing to be cautious, and another to be paranoid.
Still, she continued to sit in her chair, her milk going tepid and forming a skin on top, the only sound in the room the ticking of a regulator clock on the mantel. Her eyelids grew heavier as the minutes rolled by. Then she jerked in her chair, glanced at the clock, and saw that she’d slept for twenty minutes. Almost half an hour had gone by since she’d seen the dark car.
With a groan she uncurled her stiff legs and shook them. The pins and needles of returning circulation had begun to stab at her calves when she saw the glow of approaching headlights. She held still, ignoring the discomfort in her legs, as once again the dark two-door car drifted by.
And this time Adrienne caught the blur of a face behind the wheel looking directly into her picture window.
EIGHT
1
“I just got back from Photo Finish with the pictures you took at the Belle,” Lucas said. Adrienne’s hand tightened on the phone receiver. “There’s nothing in them we can use.”
“Nothing in them!” she burst out. “Lucas, I saw someone through the viewfinder!”
“I didn’t say there was nothing in them. I said there’s nothing we can use. There’s definitely a blurry form partially hidden by trees. But you can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”
“Then use computer enhancement. I’ve seen it done on television.”
“And it always works on television, but this is real life. We’ll give it a try, of course, but I’m not optimistic.”
“Oh damn.” Adrienne stood at the kitchen window looking out at the bed of pansies beside the patio. “Lucas, I know the figure in those photos is Julianna’s killer.”
“No, you don’t know that,” Lucas said patiently. “I haven’t gotten Julianna’s autopsy report yet. We don’t know the time of death. If it was even just a half hour before you arrived, though, why would the murderer hang around in the woods?”
“I don’t know.” She paused. “Unless it had something to do with the wreck on the highway. With all that commotion and the police at the scene the killer couldn’t get down the hill and away from the Belle.”
“Then why didn’t he go on up the hill? Why keep lurking around the hotel when you and Skye came along with a dog, no less?”
“Well …”
“Well, what?”
“Give me time. I’ll come up with a reason.”
Lucas chuckled. “When you do, call me immediately. Let’s forget about the photos for now. Did you sleep well last night?”
“No. And because I couldn’t sleep, I sat in the living room and saw something that bothered me.” She told him about the dark car with the long hood and short trunk. “Short trunk? That’s called a short hatch.”
“What do you call the piece on the trunk that’s like a narrow shelf?”
“A spoiler. I don’t suppose you saw the license plate.”
“I would have given you the number before I blundered through that description.”
“You did fine with your description. But I can think of a number of car models that have a similar frame. You couldn’t tell anything about the driver?”
“No, just a blur. Just like the figure in the photos. My world is filled with blurs.”
“Frankly, I’m almost glad you didn’t get a good photo of the person up at the Belle. That kind of knowledge could be dangerous to you. That’s why after I took a look at them, I told Hal at Photo Finish where and when you’d taken the pictures but that they didn’t show us anything. Hal tells everything he knows. I’m also repeating that information to every other blabbermouth in town. If the killer is someone around here picking up information, I want him to know you didn’t see much and got nothing identifiable in the pictures.” He paused. “But I don’t like the idea of a car cruising by your house so slowly more than once last night. It did only go by twice, right?”
Adrienne felt ashamed to admit she’d fallen asleep in her chair around three o’clock. “I should have stayed awake and watched.”
“You were exhausted.”
“I’m still exhausted. And I have a stiff neck from a night in the chair.”
“Then get some rest today.”
“I can’t. I have to take my painting to the French Art Colony for the gala. I also need to go to the grocery store, and I teach a class tonight. It’s strange to think that life goes on in spite of at least one horrible murder.”
“Life goes on, but not in the same way.” Lucas’s subdued voice sounded worried. “Now more than ever you have to be careful. I mean it, Adrienne. Take absolutely no chances, both for your sake and for your daughter’s.”
2
“Are there any scary stories about this place?” Skye asked. “I mean, is it supposed to be haunted or anything?”
“Goodness, no.” Adrienne looked at the dignified brick front of the French Art Colony with its thick white pillars. “I don’t know of one ghost that is rumored to make its home here.”
“Phooey,” Skye muttered in disappointment. “Point Pleasant has lots of haunted places. The Art Colony is right across the river in Gallipolis. How did we manage to get all the spooky beings? Hey, maybe after the Belle is torn down, its ghosts will come over here!”
“Since when did you start believing in ghosts?” Adrienne carefully began removing the canvas-covered oil painting from the back of her car. “Even when you were little, you didn’t believe in ghosts and monsters. You were the bravest child I ever knew.”
“I’m still brave,” Skye said reassuringly. “It’s just fun to pretend places can be haunted. Is the French Art Colony as old as the Belle?”
“It’s older.”
“Well, there you go. In movies and books, ghosts always like old places. No ghost with any pride would hang out in our house. It’s too
new and only has one floor. But this place would be a ghost’s dream house.”
“Skye, you should write stories about the paranormal. Maybe you’ll be the next Stephen King and I won’t have to worry about money anymore.” Adrienne banged her head on a window as she struggled to lug her painting from the car. Her lack of sleep and the heat of mid-morning added to her frustration. “Honey, please stop ruminating about ghosts and help me.”
“Skye to the rescue.” In two minutes, they’d safely removed the painting. “Success! What would you do without me?”
“I don’t ever want to find out.” Adrienne pushed her long hair behind her ears, wishing she had pulled it back in a braid and conscious of the bandage decorating her forehead. “But keep your opinions about ghosts to yourself when we get inside. I think Miss Snow is here today and she’s paranoid about anything that might tarnish the reputation of the Art Colony.”
“I think having an Art Colony ghost would be cool.”
“She wouldn’t. She doesn’t think anything that’s not in an etiquette book is cool.”
The French Art Colony had been a huge brick home in its younger days. A black wrought-iron fence surrounded the well-kept grounds. Adrienne and Skye strode toward the building on the brick sidewalk and climbed the steps of the big porch. As Adrienne had feared, the most active member of the Art Colony board, Miss Snow, was in attendance today. She opened one of the double front doors and stood waiting for them to enter, a tiny, stiff smile causing crinkles on her parchment-skinned face. The woman was tall, white-haired, cadaverously thin, had a dark flat-eyed stare, and habitually dressed in navy blue, brown, or deep purple. She’d always reminded Adrienne of the ominous housekeeper Mrs. Danvers in the novel Rebecca.
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