After Rachel double-checked Adrienne’s handiwork with the alarm system and Adrienne kicked off the hated spike heels, they all trailed into the kitchen. It was then she knew exactly how downbeat Rachel was feeling when she asked for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate had always been her greatest source of comfort. Skye promptly said she was also dying for hot chocolate, even though she’d announced on the way home she wanted lemonade because of the unusually hot June night. Adrienne was always amused by Skye’s desire to be like her beautiful, older cousin. Amused and glad. Rachel set a good example.
“How is your job going?” Adrienne asked Rachel as she poured herself a cup of chocolate she didn’t really want.
“All right, although I’m not getting to do as much with the Brent murder as I’d like.”
“I don’t have any more information from Sheriff Flynn,” Adrienne warned.
Rachel’s face reddened. “This time I didn’t come to pump you for information. I promise. The murder is just on my mind a lot.”
Adrienne sat down at the kitchen table with the girls. “Rachel, the murder of Julianna Brent is the most sensational story the Register has handled for years, and as bright and promising a reporter as you are, you haven’t even graduated from college yet. Drew probably feels you don’t have enough experience to take over the story, not to mention the resentment his giving it to you would cause among the other reporters who’ve been at the paper for years instead of a couple of months.”
Rachel took a sip of hot chocolate and, ignoring her small marshmallow mustache, said gravely, “I guess you’re right, Aunt Adrienne.”
Skye nodded. “Sometimes Mom has real good ideas.”
“Thank you, dear,” Adrienne said dryly.
“But there’s Claude Duncan’s death, too,” Rachel said. “Maybe someone deliberately set that fire.”
“Where did you hear that?” Adrienne asked sharply.
“Well, I heard that Sheriff Flynn had an arson expert look over the site. And murder makes sense if Claude saw something the morning Julianna was killed.”
“If he did, why wouldn’t he tell the police?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t very smart. Maybe he didn’t realize the importance of what he’d seen, but the killer didn’t know that, or he thought Claude might realize it later.”
“Wow, that’s a great idea, too!” Skye looked at her mother. “I have to start taking notes if I’m gonna write murder mysteries someday. Although I’d rather not write one about Julianna’s murder.”
“I’d rather you didn’t too, honey. If you’re sure you want to write murder mysteries, I’d like for you to stick to entirely fictional characters, not one of my best friends.”
The doorbell rang. Brandon barked and all three females jumped, then stiffened. Finally Rachel quirked a smile and said, “I don’t think murderers or thieves ring the bell. It’s probably Sheriff Flynn, Aunt Adrienne.”
Of course, Adrienne thought. If she was going to stay in this house, she couldn’t fall apart every time someone came to the door or called. And she hadn’t talked to Lucas since morning. He was probably dropping by to check on them.
But it wasn’t Lucas at the door. It was Bruce Allard—tall, handsome, blond, tan, and smiling winningly. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. I saw Rachel’s car parked out front and I’d like to speak to her, if I’m not interrupting.”
Rachel appeared beside Adrienne. “What is it, Bruce?” she asked before Adrienne had a chance to say anything.
“You said you weren’t in the mood to go out to a movie, but you didn’t say anything about not wanting to stay in to see one, so I rented a DVD.” He held it up. “Chicago. One of your favorites.”
Rachel stared at him for a few moments before saying expressionlessly, “I’ve seen it five times.”
“I thought maybe you had, so I also got Mulholland Drive.”
“Then why don’t we watch it here?” Adrienne suggested. Rachel clearly didn’t want to spend an evening alone with Bruce or she wouldn’t have declined his earlier invitation.
Bruce’s charm-you-to-death smile wavered and Adrienne caught a flash of anger in his blue eyes, anger that vanished so fast she thought she might have imagined it until Rachel said quickly, “I don’t think that movie is really suitable for Skye.”
Skye looked stricken and burst out indignantly, “I’m not a littel girl!”
Rachel gave her a sly wink and she subsided, realizing Rachel had only been using her as an excuse not to burden them with Bruce for the evening. “Okay, Mr. Allard, you win.” Rachel’s voice sounded tired. “We’ll go back to my house to watch the movie.”
“Rachel, if you’d rather spend the evening with us and not see any movie, I’m sure Bruce would understand,” Adrienne said, her annoyance with Bruce growing.
“Rachel and I have a standing date, Mrs. Reynolds.” Bruce’s expression was pleasant, but his voice was firm. Adrienne’s annoyance flared into strong irritation. She’d always known the indulged son of one of the town’s most affluent families was self-assured, but tonight he struck her as downright arrogant. Rachel had already broken off their “standing date,” then gently tried to rebuff him at Adrienne’s door. But Bruce showed a bold determination to get his own way. It wasn’t an attractive trait.
Rachel had picked up her purse and was starting out the front door when Adrienne caught sight of Bruce’s car parked behind Rachel’s.
“I like your car, Bruce,” she said. “What kind is it?”
He nearly preened at the compliment. “It’s a GTO. They just started making them again after twenty years. It’s got 350 horsepower. I can go from zero to sixty miles an hour in five seconds.”
“Oh, stop bragging and let’s get going,” Rachel said with a forced laugh. She bent slightly and gave Adrienne a quick kiss on the cheek.
But Adrienne hardly noticed the uncustomary physical affection from her niece. All of her attention was fixed on Bruce’s GTO—black, two doors, with a long hood, a short trunk, and a spoiler. Another car like the one that had kept up surveillance on her house throughout the long hours of the previous night.
NINE
1
“Why in heaven’s name are you holding that cat? You’re allergic to cats!”
Kit Kirkwood looked up to see her mother Ellen in blue linen slacks and a white silk blouse that last summer had fit her perfectly and now looked at least one size too big. Ellen’s complexion was pasty in spite of a careful makeup job, and her frosty gray eyes were slightly sunken and surrounded by shadows concealer couldn’t hide. My God, how she’s aged this last year since Jamie died, Kit thought. She looks ten years older.
“I outgrew my allergy to cats about twenty years ago,” Kit said calmly, stroking the cat that had tensed at the shrillness of Ellen’s voice. “And this isn’t just any cat. It’s Lottie’s Calypso. Don’t you recognize her?”
“Calypso?” Ellen squinted. Kit was certain her mother needed glasses but refused to wear them because she thought they made her look older. Ellen never forgot how she looked beside her handsome husband, Gavin, who was fourteen years her junior. “Why do you have Lottie’s cat?”
Kit sat in the gazebo near the outside bar at the Iron Gate Grill. They would not open for lunch for two hours and she was taking advantage of the clear, gently warm morning to relax. “Mother, why don’t you come into the gazebo and have a seat instead of yelling at me from out on the sidewalk?”
“I don’t want to get my slacks dirty.”
“The chairs have been wiped clean this morning. Join me for a mimosa.”
“At this hour?” Ellen tried to look surprised at the invitation, but Kit knew her mother hadn’t just happened by. A lifetime had alerted Kit to her mother’s oblique approach to topics she thought would incite arguments. “Well, maybe I can spare a few minutes,” Ellen said. “And I guess a mimosa wouldn’t kill me.”
Ellen entered the gazebo and sat down carefully as if the chair might blow up beneath her. Kit motioned to
a waiter wiping off the tiki bar and asked him to bring two mimosas.
Ellen gazed balefully at the bar with its torches and South Pacific look. “I do wish you’d get rid of that thing, Kit.”
“Why? People love it.”
“It’s disrespectful. After all, your restaurant is next to the approach of the old Silver Bridge.”
The Silver Bridge again, Kit thought with a groan. She hadn’t been born when the bridge connecting West Virginia and Ohio crumbled. Ellen had told the story so many times, though, Kit felt as if she instead of her mother had been sitting helplessly in a car on the approach that dreadful night of December 15, 1967, when the bridge collapsed, dumping Christmas traffic into the frigid water of the Ohio River. Forty-six people had died, including two of Ellen’s close friends. Ellen was almost as obsessed with the disaster of the bridge as she was with the unfortunate history of la Belle Rivière.
The waiter delivered the mimosas and dashed away. Ellen gazed after him. “Why does his hair stick straight up like that?”
“Hair gel.”
“You should make him stop wearing it. He looks like he stuck his finger in an electric socket.” Ellen touched her own hair—short, carefully styled, and dyed the exact deep brown of Kit’s—then took a sip of her drink. With one of her habitual quick changes of subject, she asked, “Why did Lottie give you Calypso?”
“She didn’t. I brought the cat home because Lottie is missing.”
Ellen’s gaze jerked to Kit’s. “Missing? Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“You weren’t in great shape yesterday, Mother.”
“I certainly wasn’t too far gone to hear that my best friend is missing!” Although Ellen and Lottie traveled in entirely different social circles, Ellen had remained close to her childhood companion. “Maybe I shouldn’t get upset, though,” Ellen said hopefully. “Lottie goes on her little walking tours every year.”
“This time is different. Her daughter has been murdered. I don’t think she’d be in the mood for one of her casual strolls to look at the countryside after Julianna’s death.” Kit paused, stroking the tiny Calypso under the chin and sending her into an ecstasy of purring. “Lottie was here last night She wouldn’t come inside the restaurant We sat out back on a bench. She seemed extremely calm—too calm, considering how she adored Juli. She also seemed a little scared. I went inside to get her some tea and she was gone when I came back. I’ve been to her cabin and it looks like she never returned. Calypso was obviously starving so I brought her home with me.”
Ellen looked genuinely alarmed. “You know Lottie would never neglect an animal. Something is wrong aside from Juli’s death. Someone should be searching for Lottie!”
“The police are, Mother.”
Ellen scoffed. “They aren’t working overtime, I’m sure. They’re too carried away with Julianna’s murder to worry about poor Lottie. How’s Gail?”
“She acts like she couldn’t care less about Lottie or Julianna.”
Ellen scowled. “That awful girl! She’s like her father Butch. You barely knew him, but he was odious. Surprisingly smart in a conniving way, but odious. Completely unprincipled. Lottie only married him because Butch was her father’s boss and Butch wanted Lottie.” Ellen sighed. “Lottie used to be so pretty. Beautiful, really, like Juli. She always wanted to please her father. Besides, he told her she was lucky to get Butch because no one else would want her after what had happened to her at la Belle.”
“Lottie’s life has been tragic,” Kit said softly.
“But she emerged from everything bad that happened to her with such a placid outlook. And two daughters she remained proud of, no matter what. She always believed Julianna could break back into the modeling world if she wanted to, and that Gail could do anything she pleased if she would just apply herself. Gail could have gotten a college scholarship, but she would never leave here. It was as if something held her. Maybe the hope that Butch would come back.”
“That doesn’t sound like an enticing hope,” Kit said dryly.
“It wouldn’t be to us, but it might to Gail. There’s no accounting for the human heart.” Ellen grimaced then said with determination, “I’m going to look for Lottie as soon as I leave here.”
Kit knew it was useless to point out that her mother would begin to tire in an hour. Ellen cherished Lottie and had always wanted to improve the woman’s lifestyle, but during their friendship of over half a century, Lottie had never accepted even a loan. As if reading her mind, Ellen said, “Lottie can’t have gone far. She has no money.” Ellen watched Kit stroking the cat then said emphatically, “Miles Shaw killed Julianna.”
Kit’s gaze sliced toward her mother. “He was out of town.”
“So he says.”
“The police confirmed it. Besides, you’re talking about murder. Mother. Miles couldn’t do something like that!”
“I think he could.”
“And you know him so well,” Kit returned scathingly.
“I know him as well as I need to. Besides, you are still in love with him.”
“I am not, Mother. I never dated Miles. We were friends. I introduced him to Julianna.”
“You were just friends because he wanted a platonic relationship, not you.”
“That was a long time ago, Mother. I’m seeing J.C. now.”
“That handsome blue-eyed man who’s in your restaurant all the time? I’ve no doubt you’re attracted to him, but you’re not in love with him like you were with Miles.” Kit’s lips tightened. “If you’d talk about it, Kit—just admit it—you’d feel better.”
“You will not give up, Mother,” Kit said through clenched teeth. “You keep nipping at peoples’ heels like some damned little terrier until they say what you want just to get you to shut up! It’s one of the things that drives Gavin crazy about you.”
Ellen’s pale eyes hardened. “Let’s leave Gavin out of this.”
“Yes, let’s. He doesn’t stand up well to close scrutiny.”
Ellen set down her mimosa glass with a bang. “You are in one foul mood today, daughter, and I don’t feel like subjecting myself to it any longer.” She stood up. “I’m going to look for Lottie.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No! I will find Lottie on my own.”
“Try your best,” Kit murmured as she watched Ellen march stiff-backed toward her Mercedes. “But you won’t find her.”
2
Adrienne had set up her easel and determinedly began her painting of la Belle Rivière an hour ago. Kit still wanted it and Adrienne wouldn’t disappoint her. She also wanted to do the painting for herself, not just for Kit, because the Belle was a landmark that shouldn’t be forgotten just because of Ellen Kirkwood’s belief that it was haunted. The woman was downright irrational when it came to some matters, the hotel being one of them, and her intention to destroy the place made Adrienne angry, in spite of what had happened to Julianna here.
But Adrienne found that trying to forget Julianna’s fate, even long enough to accomplish a couple of hours of painting, was beyond difficult. Although the police had sealed the doors, from the outside the hotel looked as pristine and majestic as always. The last year of neglect had not seemed to touch it, as if it had been protected from time by some kind of supernatural protective shield. The atmosphere was different, though. Adrienne felt the air of ruin, of desolation, even of malevolence emanating from the beautiful, deserted hotel. It seemed alive. And corrupt.
For a moment she felt like packing up her equipment and leaving, in spite of the patrol Lucas had come by every hour or so to make sure she was all right. Then she drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Adrienne, you’re being absurd, she told herself sternly. You’re as fanciful and easily spooked as a kid. It’s just a building. And you’re not alone out here. People know where you are, and the cops check on you fairly regularly. Besides, the murderer isn’t hanging around so he can kill you out in the open in broad daylight.
She opened h
er eyes. She released her breath. She even made herself smile.
She did not feel one bit better.
Adrienne always painted to music at home but rarely when she painted outside. Today, though, she knew the dark atmosphere of a murder scene that would bother her might be lightened by music. Rock. Loud rock. So she’d brought her boom box and was listening to “Save Me.” She was just turning up the music a notch higher when Ellen Kirkwood came to a screeching halt in her Mercedes and nearly leaped from the car.
“Adrienne!”
Oh God, Adrienne groaned inwardly. Ellen was going to throw a fit about her doing the painting. But the woman surprised her. “Hard at work so early in the morning?”
“It’s ten-fifteen, Ellen. Hardly early.”
“You young people are so full of energy. I used to be the same way.” You used to be a whirling dervish one day and in bed the next, Adrienne silently recalled. Ellen’s erratic behavior had always set Kit on edge and with good reason. It didn’t allow for a peaceful home environment. Ellen looked around. “Where’s your little girl, Moon?”
“It’s Skye. She was invited to her friend Sherry Granger’s house along with a couple of other girls for sunbathing around the pool. Mrs. Granger is a vigilant mother and I knew Skye would have more fun frolicking in the Granger pool than stuck with me all day.”
“I’m sure she will.” Ellen shot an icy look at the boom box. “What is that music?”
“It’s a song by a group called Remy Zero.”
“Good Lord. It’s terrible.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“No, it’s terrible. I don’t know how you can paint with that racket going on.” Ellen’s gaze darted around the grounds. “Have you seen Lottie?”
“No, Ellen. No one has seen Lottie except for Kit.”
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