“No you’re not You have something definite on your mind. I know your talk of love lasting forever wasn’t inspired by Margaret and Miles. I hope it wasn’t inspired by you and Lucas Flynn.” She dropped her gaze. “You’re thinking about Philip and Julianna, aren’t you?”
She gaped. “You knew?” He nodded. “How? For how long?”
“How did I know? By watching. Closely, I admit, but neither one of them is an outstanding actor. For how long? For years. Since Julianna was a teenager. The first time I saw them together when I came back from New York, I could see that their feelings had only gotten stronger.”
“I’m astonished,” Adrienne said faintly. “I didn’t see anything.”
“I don’t believe that You’re too perceptive to have missed it. You just shut out what you saw because Julianna was one of your best friends and Philip is married to your sister.”
“You really saw it twenty years ago?”
“I really did. At la Belle, where all weird things flourish. Ellen Kirkwood isn’t completely off her rocker for thinking there’s something definitely not right about that place. It seems to be a breeding ground for bad situations—violent situations, tragic situations, potentially destructive romantic situations.”
“She told me the hotel’s history one day, and I felt the same way you do about her not being as crazy as she sounds when she talks about the place.” Adrienne took another sip of wine she knew she didn’t need. “Do you think the relationship between Philip and Julianna led to Juli’s murder?”
Drew nodded. “Yes, Adrienne, I do. I’m not saying I think Philip killed her, although I’m not ruling that out because he could have snapped if she got too demanding or threatened to go public. I think Philip is capable of killing in the heat of the moment.” He paused. “Or, Julianna’s murder could have been the product of Philip’s or someone else’s careful planning, of someone waiting to get her in a secluded place where the killer had plenty of time to get away. Less time because you and Skye showed up unexpectedly. But whatever the circumstances, I think Julianna was murdered because she loved Philip Hamilton.”
“And the other murders?”
“By-products of the first. A terrible chain reaction to Julianna’s murder.”
“Oh, my God,” Adrienne moaned.
“You’re too smart not to have thought of this before.”
“I had thought of it,” Adrienne admitted, “but haphazardly, not as coolly and logically as you. And I didn’t know until tonight that Julianna was involved with Philip. I was like Vicky. I thought he was probably dallying with Margaret.”
“Or maybe that’s what Vicky wanted you to believe that’s what she thought.”
“That is what Vicky thought, Drew. What are you trying to do? Get me to say I believed Vicky was capable of killing her rival, Julianna?”
“Instead of saying you thought she was capable of killing her rival, Margaret?”
“I did not think—” she began heatedly, then broke off. Yes, when she’d seen how ravaged Vicky had looked the morning after Margaret’s body had been found, Adrienne had feared deep in her bones that Vicky, maybe having consumed far too much alcohol and too many pills, had done the unthinkable. Adrienne drew a deep breath, all of her defensiveness crumbling under the weight of exhaustion, and let her head drop onto Drew’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I think anymore and I’m getting a helluva headache.”
“No wonder.” Drew’s right hand came up and he began massaging her neck. “This is where your tension headaches start They always have.”
“I give up. You do know me well. And what you’re doing feels wonderful.”
Adrienne sipped more wine. Drew rubbed her tight neck muscles with exactly the right amount of pressure. From the CD player, Don Henley sang “Taking You Home,” about the love he’d found that was like nothing he’d ever known before. Adrienne lost herself in the lyrics, drifting along with Don’s words and Drew’s gentle and familiar touch. With a start she realized that for the first time in days—maybe even years—she felt warm and secure and, incredibly, loved.
Her head jerked up. “What’s wrong?” Drew asked huskily, his breath warm on her cheek, his depthless dark eyes probing hers. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t trust her own voice. As if understanding what she wouldn’t make herself say, he gave her the old, intimate smile she knew so well and gently placed his hands on either side of her face and drew it closer to his own. “Don’t worry, Adrienne,” he murmured. “We’re together and everything is going to be all right. I’m going to make it all right. You’ll see. So just relax for tonight, my darling. Pretend we’re the only two people in the world.”
And with a sigh, she did.
3
“Adrienne? Adrienne! Are you all right in there? Adrienne, I swear, if you’re dead—”
Adrienne’s consciousness rose, broke water, then slid into the dark, quiet depths again until the strident voice refused to let it float in peace and summoned her back to the bright colors, harsh lights, and sharp edges of the waking world. Adrienne blinked, stretched, coughed, then finally realized that Kit was pounding for all she was worth on Adrienne’s big picture window right behind the couch.
“If you’re asleep, wake up” Kit shouted. “Dear God, please just be asleep. Don’t be dead, Adrienne. Don’t you dare be dead!”
Adrienne opened her eyes wide, looked over at Drew, whose head moved although his eyes were still closed, then she lifted her head and glanced down at the afghan covering their naked bodies. Out of reflex, she pulled it higher, although nothing but their shoulders were exposed.
The draperies had caught on the back of the couch, leaving them open at least an inch. Squinting, she could see Kit outside trampling a marigold bed as she bent and stooped and knelt, trying to peer through the crack in the draperies. When Kit saw Adrienne move, she let out a whoop of joy and smacked her hands against the glass. Adrienne groaned. Then slowly, every muscle and joint rebelling, she rolled off the couch and began scrambling for her clothes. She finally made it to the front door, fumbled with the lock and dead bolt, then opened it to a dazzling blaze of morning light.
Adrienne immediately shut her eyes against the brightness as Kit pulled her forward and closed strong arms around her. “God, Adrienne, why didn’t you answer your phone? You just go around getting shot at, run home, and unplug the phone!”
“I didn’t unplug the phone.” Adrienne’s tongue felt too big for her mouth. “Besides, I have a cell phone.”
“Two phones, no answer.” Kit stepped inside and closed the door behind her, mercifully shutting out the blinding morning light. Adrienne glanced at her through slitted eyes. Kit’s short, dark hair looked as if she’d run a damp comb through it, not put it through the ritual washing and curling-iron routine, and her eyes were bloodshot from sleep deprivation. She wore sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt, her pale skin had a grayish cast, and a narrow scratch snaked its way across her forehead. “I have been worried sick about you.”
“I’m sorry. You have no idea—”
“You’re right.” Kit suddenly sounded angry. “I have no idea because you wouldn’t bother to let me or anyone else know you were all right.” She glanced over at Drew, floundering on the couch like some dazed creature on unfamiliar territory. “Well, no wonder you didn’t want to bother answering the phone.”
“Kit, I was not avoiding the phone,” Adrienne returned irritably. Then she had a horrible thought. What if Drew stood up. He wore nothing under the afghan. “Coffee!” she nearly shouted. “I must have coffee! Come into the kitchen with me.”
Kit had begun to grin. She turned to the living room and called, “Drew, stop struggling with that afghan. You look like you’re in pain. Coffee is coming up.”
“Thank God,” he groaned as the two women disappeared into the kitchen.
Adrienne reached for the coffee bin and Kit sat down at the kitchen table. “Before you start firing more questions at me,” Adrienne said, “tell me to
what I owe this frantic morning visit, flatteringly loud joy over discovering that I’m not dead, and fury that I didn’t answer a phone that never rang.”
“Gail Brent. She called me this morning. You know she dates Sonny Keller, the cop. He told her all about you going to Lottie’s cabin, someone shooting at you, you getting away but Lucas being shot. When I couldn’t reach you, I was afraid whoever shot at you at the cabin got to you later.” Kit paused. “I don’t think Keller knew Drew Delaney was keeping you company while Lucas is in the hospital. If so, he’d be spreading the news all over town. Of course, I’m surprised—no, stunned—myself, although I’ve never thought Lucas was right for you. He’s too serious.”
“This is not a big deal, Kit. Drew was protecting me.”
Kit exploded into laughter. “Stop cackling,” Adrienne snapped, although her facial expression wasn’t as stern as her voice. “We had quite an evening.”
“I’m sure,” Kit guffawed.
“Will you quit it? You sound like you’re fifteen.”
“And the two of you look like you’re fifteen, all tousled hair, guilty glances, and flaming cheeks.”
“Flaming cheeks? You’re imagining that. Drew has never blushed in his life. Besides, neither of us has anything to blush about.”
“Come on, Adrienne, I’m your best friend. I deserve to get the details about everything. You can start with the shooting.”
“Thank you. I thought you found the shooting part boring, just a prelude leading up to the big moment with Drew.”
“I want to hear about the whole evening. And you’re dumping way too many grounds in the coffeemaker basket”
“No I’m not Drew and I need something to wake us up. We drank quite a bit of wine. Just to relax.”
“While he was protecting you. All good bodyguards drink while doing their jobs.”
“Do you have an extra toothbrush?” Drew yelled from the bathroom.
Kit bent double with laughter. “This gets better and better.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Adrienne snarled, unable to stop herself from grinning. “There’s an unopened one in the medicine cabinet,” she called back to Drew.
“If he asks for bubble bath, I won’t be able to bear it,” Kit choked out.
“If he asks for the bubble bath, I’m throwing both of you out.” Adrienne flipped on the coffeemaker. “About my almost being killed last night.”
“Oh yes.” Kit wiped tears from her eyes and made an effort to look properly horrified. “What happened?”
“I’m sure you got the basic story from Gail.” Adrienne sat down at the table as the coffeemaker kicked into action. “Lottie called me. She sounded really sick, but she refused to come into town. She wouldn’t even tell me where she was, but I guessed she was at the cabin, so I decided I’d go to her without letting her know I was corning. I called Lucas and asked him to meet me there. I went, and as I was walking into the cabin, someone shot at me. With a rifle, I might add, not a handgun. Obviously, they missed. I hit the floor and was absolutely frozen and then Drew came along. Apparently, he’d been following me. Lottie wasn’t in the cabin. Lucas never showed up. So, Drew called 911. Then he brought me home and stayed with me in case whoever tried to kill me the first time decided to try it again. He didn’t want me to be alone. That’s all there is to our being together.”
“Try that last part on someone who didn’t look through the slit between the draperies at the front window and see the two of you all wrapped up together on the couch.”
“We weren’t wrapped up together.”
“You didn’t see yourselves. Where’s Skye?”
“At Sherry Grangers’s. I sent her there as soon as trouble started at the cabin. I just hope she hasn’t heard anything about the shooting.” Adrienne paused. “You said Gail called you with the news. Why?”
“Because you’re my friend.”
“But Gail isn’t our friend. I didn’t think she’d care less what happened to either one of us.”
Kit shot her a troubled glance. “You know, I was so upset over what she told me about you, I didn’t even think about how odd it was for her to call me all full of concern for you. And you know something else? I asked her about her mother, and she said in this offhand tone that Lottie hadn’t been found but that she’d turn up. Considering the shooting, that’s cold, even for Gail.”
“I agree.” Adrienne got up to pour coffee. “How did you scratch your forehead?”
“What? Oh, that I came tearing down the rear stairs from my apartment this morning and just missed smacking into a limb on the dogwood tree. I guess a twig got me. Is it bleeding?”
“There was a little bit of blood, but it’s dried. You need to put some antiseptic on it, though. I have some in the bathroom.”
“Which is occupied.”
“Not for long.” Adrienne set a mug of coffee in front of Kit, then headed out of the kitchen with another in her hand.
“Coffee in the bathroom?” Kit teased. “Not quite as good as breakfast in bed.”
“It’s as good as it gets around here.”
Adrienne met Drew coming out of the bathroom. His face was flushed from vigorous splashing with cold water, his dark eyes were as bloodshot as Kit’s, his hair stood on end, and Adrienne’s heart caught at how gorgeous he looked in spite of it all. “Here,” she said abruptly, thrusting the coffee mug at him and feeling like a girl of Skye’s age with a crush.
Drew took it gratefully. “I’ll have time to run home and take a shower and shave, but no time for breakfast. Eggs and toast I can manage without. Caffeine is a different matter.” He slurped coffee. “Good and strong. Hey, is Kit giving you a hard time about me being here?”
“Just relentless teasing.”
“Well, if it gets too bad, ask her where Miles Shaw spent the night.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him going up the back stairs to her apartment last night.”
“Before you followed me to Lottie’s? Really, Drew, do you ever spend an evening at home minding your own business?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Miles Shaw?” Adrienne asked softly. “Are you sure?”
“It’s kind of hard to mistake him for someone else. The guy’s a giant and his hair is three feet long.”
“Probably longer. I wonder what he was doing there?”
“I don’t know, but he was carrying a knapsack and a small suitcase.” Drew emptied his coffee mug and handed it back to her. “Thanks for this. I have to run.” He hesitated, then leaned forward and gave her a glancing kiss on the cheek. “Take care of yourself today.”
Adrienne stood in the hall, thoughts churning, until she heard the front door close. Drew Delaney had spent the night with her. Drew Delaney had kissed her good-bye. She thought she might be falling in love with Drew Delaney again. Good God.
“Adrienne, are you okay?”
Kit stood in front of her looking exhausted and worried. “Sure.” Adrienne realized she didn’t sound sure at all. “I’m just distracted. It was a long night. I’m worried about Lucas and Lottie. I need to pick up Skye and tell her about the shooting before she hears the news from someone else.”
“I really don’t think you should go out today considering the attack on you last night,” Kit said. “If you give me directions to the Granger house, I’ll pick up Skye.”
“Thanks, but the Grangers don’t know you.”
“Then call ahead and tell them I’ll be picking up Skye. You aren’t even dressed yet, Adrienne. I can have her back here before you’re out of the shower.”
Adrienne thought of how good hot water would feel on her sore neck and back muscles, and how much more cheerful she could look for Skye with shampooed hair and a touch of lipstick and blush. She didn’t want her daughter to be any more worried than her banishment from the house last night must have made her feel already.
“All right. I’ll call the Grangers. It’s not far and I’m sure Skye is awake. Be su
re to tell her that I’m fine.”
After she’d given Kit directions, Adrienne opened the front door. Bright morning sun streamed in. “At least it’s a nice day,” she said. “I was afraid it would rain, which would make searching for Lottie even harder.”
“Not to mention her being out in the rain making her even sicker.” Kit stepped onto the porch. “Be back in a flash with your daughter.” Adrienne was closing the door when Kit leaned toward the lilac bush and asked, “What’s this?”
Adrienne opened the door again and stepped outside as Kit leaned down and picked up a manila envelope tucked under the lower branches of the bush. She held it out to Adrienne, who peered at the large, printed words on the front:
To Adrienne
Memories
“Memories?” Kit asked blankly. “Memories of what?”
But Adrienne didn’t hear her as she opened the envelope and withdrew a photograph. Then her world shifted as she looked at a picture of her husband, Trey, lying beside a mangled motorcycle, his body contorted like a broken doll’s, his right cheekbone sticking through what was left of the shredded skin on his face, and his left arm torn loose and resting nearly a foot away from his body.
“Dear God,” Adrienne mumbled as she dropped the photo and sank slowly into an unconscious heap on the porch.
FIFTEEN
1
Miles Shaw stepped out of the shower half-blinded by steam from the nearly scalding water he loved, and began vigorously toweling himself. When he finished, he wrapped the towel around his long, black hair and walked barefooted into the bedroom. To his embarrassment, he nearly let out a girlish scream when he saw Gail Brent sitting on the bed. Her blue gaze traveled up and down his naked body before she slowly smiled and said, “Good morning, Miles. Did Kit take out room and board for last night in money or in trade?”
Miles whipped the towel off his head and held it in front of his crotch. Gail laughed delightedly. “Oh, Miles, really! Believe me, it isn’t that special.”
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