Share No Secrets

by Carlene Thompson

  “What are you daydreaming about?” the woman snapped behind Adrienne, making her jump. “The gala officially starts in fifteen minutes. People should be arriving soon.”

  “It’s not fashionable to be on time,” Adrienne said.

  “In my day it was. Punctuality is next to godliness, my father always said.”

  “I thought that was cleanliness. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness.'”

  Miss Snow glared and swept away to the kitchen for one last inspection. At least she’s off my back for a while, Adrienne thought. If she’d been Miss Snow’s parakeet, she would have found a way to break free of the bars and soar to freedom or die trying.

  Adrienne’s feet had already begun hurting when the first guests arrived twenty minutes later. She had lingered to the side of one window and watched a couple wait in their parked car until they saw another couple walking toward the gallery. Then they had scrambled from their Mercedes, joined the first intrepid couple, and thereby made a merry little group of four people, supposedly so different from a pathetic straggling of two. Miss Snow nearly ran over Adrienne reaching the front door, welcoming them profusely, giggling girlishly, handing them pamphlets, and pitting her copious application of lavender eau de toilette against the other women’s Opium and Intuition.

  Six more people had shown up when Drew Delaney strolled through the door looking devastating in a tuxedo. He glanced at Miss Snow rakishly and said, “Why, Miss Petunia, don’t you look fine?”

  Petunia? Adrienne thought. Miss Snow’s first name was Petunia?

  Miss Snow gave him a frozen look. “How do you do, Mr. Delaney? Are you personally covering our little event for the Point Pleasant Register?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and it is my honor. I wouldn’t assign it to any of my reporters. I just decided to hog the whole event to myself.”

  “You don’t know anything about art,” Miss Snow pronounced darkly.

  “Now that’s not quite true. I’ve studied up on the subject since my grandmother made me take those china-painting lessons from you when I was ten.”

  China-painting lessons? Drew? Adrienne was choking on a sip of champagne when Miss Snow waved an imperious arm toward her. “I’m quite busy tonight, Mr. Delaney. I hope you don’t mind if I turn you over to the capable hands of Ms. Reynolds.”

  “I would consider it an honor and a great pleasure to be in the hands of Ms. Reynolds,” Drew drawled, assuming a leer. Adrienne would have assaulted him verbally if she could have stopped coughing.

  “Adrienne, you should drink water if you can’t handle spirits,” Miss Snow chastised. “When you’ve recovered, please show Mr. Delaney around.”

  “I think he’s been here before,” Adrienne managed.

  “Then show him around again.” Miss Show’s voice was pure steel. “Please.”

  “Yes, please, Adrienne,” Drew said somewhat pathetically. “I can’t remember a thing about the place.”

  “Oh, shut up,” she muttered as “Petunia” fluttered back to the front door and Drew stood grinning at her. “Do you want a drink?”

  “I don’t think I can get through the evening without one,” Drew said.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Really? You looked like that first one might have been too much for you.”

  “It was a combination of hearing Miss Snow’s first name and knowing that you took china-painting lessons from her. Really, Drew. China painting?”

  “It was the summer my parents were deciding whether or not to get a divorce. They went off and left me with my grandmother, who forced me to take the lessons from her good friend. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life. All my friends were playing baseball. That was in the days before soccer became the rage. Anyway, I’ve lived in fear the rest of my life that the china-painting episode might leak out, and here it did, right in front of the prettiest girl this side of the Mississippi.”

  “I’ll never be able to look at you quite the same, Drew,” Adrienne said in mock seriousness. “That is, if you were good at it”

  “I stunk. You heard Petunia. I don’t know anything about art”

  A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne and Adrienne lifted off two glasses, handing one to Drew. “I’m almost as shocked to find out her name is Petunia as I am to find out you took china-painting lessons.”

  “You didn’t know her first name is Petunia?” Adrienne shook her head. “My goodness, it’s a sweet story,” Drew said with a mischievous wink. “It seems she had a rough time at birth and came out with a face sort of bright pink from strain and bluish-purple from all the pulling they’d done on her. Afterward, they wrapped her in a white blanket and handed her to her daddy, who said, ‘Why, what a pretty little thing. And colorful, too. Wrapped up in all this white wool, she looks like a petunia in the snow! That will be her name. Petunia Snow!’ Now isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  Adrienne bent double with laughter. She glanced up to see Miss Snow glowering at her for making a spectacle of herself. Meanwhile, Drew stood looking handsome and dignified in his tux with only a trace of a polite smile on his tanned face.

  “I think Miss Snow is going to come over here and paddle me if I don’t get myself under control,” Adrienne said, still gasping with laughter. “Let me take you around to see the paintings.”

  “I’m only interested in one. Yours. What’s it called? Ah, Autumn Exodus.”

  “How do you know the title?”

  “I’m a reporter,” Drew said mysteriously. “I find out everything.”

  Adrienne took him to the painting and stood by nervously while he studied it, although she knew he was no art expert. Finally he exclaimed that it was “wonderful” and asked where her First Place ribbon was.

  “They haven’t announced the winners yet,” she told him, amused by the vague word of praise only an amateur would use, yet pleased that she saw genuine admiration in his eyes. “They’ll make a big production out of it. But I’m not expecting to place, even though Miles Shaw didn’t enter anything this time.”

  “By the way, where is the long-haired, full-of-himself Mr. Shaw?” Drew asked.

  “Don’t even mention his name around Miss Snow” Adrienne said in mock horror, glancing over to where the woman was trying to charm the mayor of Gallipolis. “He’s a no-show. And I mean a real no-show, as in he seems to have left town. For good.”

  Drew looked at her in surprise. “Left town for good? No. He’s just lying low at Kit’s place.”

  “I don’t think so. Miss Snow called him and his phone has been disconnected. I’m sure it’s not because he didn’t pay his bill. And I doubt very much that he’s changing addresses. He loves that loft he lived in with Julianna.”

  “You don’t think he could be moving into Kit’s?”

  Adrienne shook her head. “I think Kit has real feelings for him, but she’s not crazy enough to make that kind of commitment based on a night or two.”

  “Unlike you, she can be impulsive.”

  “I can be impulsive.”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, you haven’t seen much of me the last few years.”

  Drew gave her the warm, intímate smile that had driven her wild ever since she was a teenager. “You’re right I haven’t seen nearly enough of you. And I know, because you always think the worst of me, you believe I meant that remark sexually. I didn’t. Although I wouldn’t object to sexually, either”

  Adrienne felt herself blushing, then blushed harder because she felt silly and adolescent. “You’ll never change, Drew.”

  “I have changed. In all the important ways. Well, most of them, at least. Especially when it comes to knowing that I want only one woman in my life. And that woman is you.”

  “And what about Skye?”

  “She’s not a woman yet. But let me amend my earlier comment. I want one woman and one adolescent girl who will grow up to be the same kind of strong, talented, beautiful woman her mother is. If I
hadn’t been such an idiot, I would have realized it a long time ago.”

  Drew’s usual cocky smile faded and he looked so deeply into her eyes, she felt as if he could see directly into her soul. “How about being my girl again, Adrienne?”

  Adrienne felt as if the room were beginning to spin and the sensation had nothing to do with champagne. She wanted nothing more than to step into Drew’s arms, to feel the heat of his body through her thin dress, and to drown in his kiss, oblivious to all the guests at the French Art Colony gala.

  Instead, she took a step back from him and said in a shaky voice, “I’ll have to think about that.” She smiled nervously, then asked abruptly, “Where is Skye and the rest of the Hamilton family?”

  “Well, I can answer one question for you,” Drew said. “Your sister is right behind you.”

  Vicky tapped her on the shoulder. When Adrienne turned, Vicky hugged her. “Hi! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so sexy!”

  “Thank you. Skye picked out the dress.”

  “She told us about twenty times you’d let her pick it out.”

  Adrienne looked around. “Where is she?”

  “She’ll be along. It seems Rachel ran out at the last minute to get a lipstick, like she doesn’t already own a dozen shades. Philip got tired of waiting for her to come back—he has another appearance to make after this, and he wanted to get moving. So I asked Skye if she minded coming a few minutes later with Rachel and Bruce, and she said that was fine.”

  “Bruce Allard? Vicky, you didn’t tell me Rachel had a date tonight.”

  “I just assumed you knew. Rachel always has a date.” Vicky hesitated. “Actually, Bruce sort of insisted on tonight. I heard Rachel putting up a bit of an argument, but you know how persuasive Bruce can be.”

  “I know how pushy Bruce can be,” Adrienne snapped. “Vicky, I believed you, Philip, Rachel, and Skye would be attending together. If I’d known Bruce was going to be bringing Skye, I would have come and gotten her earlier.”

  “Now don’t get the worried look on your face. You’re making lines between your eyebrows.” Adrienne looked closely at her sister. She was too gay, and her cheeks were too pink. Oh God, why did she have to drink tonight, Adrienne thought in irritation. She was supposed to be looking after my daughter. “Bruce is always on time. He should have arrived at the house about ten minutes ago,” Vicky chattered on. “I’ll bet they’re on their way, now. And don’t you fret about Bruce’s driving. He’s a very good driver.”

  “Not if he ran over Gavin Kirkwood last night,” Drew muttered.

  Adrienne looked at him in alarm. “What are you talking about?”

  “Gavin and young Mr. Allard got in a bad quarrel at The Iron Gate bar last night right before Gavin left and got flattened by a hit-and-run driver.”

  “What?” Adrienne’s voice was so loud that several people turned to look. “Kit didn’t say a word about that when she came by my house this afternoon.”

  “Maybe she had other things on her mind,” Vicky offered.

  “Other things on her mind?” Adrienne demanded. “What could be more important?”

  Vicky patted her arm in what was supposed to be a gesture of comfort. “You’re getting yourself all upset over nothing. Bruce wouldn’t do a thing like that. It’s crazy!”

  Adrienne looked frantically at Drew. “Did you know about Bruce and Gavin having a fight?”

  “Yes, but it was only an argument, not a fistfight And right after Gavin left the bar, Allard made a phone call. Then he finished his drink. Several people vouch for him still being at the bar right at the time Gavin was run down. Vicky’s right—Allard couldn’t have done it. If not, he’d have at least been brought in for questioning, which he wasn’t.” Drew paused. “Didn’t Lucas tell you any of this?”

  “No, he did not,” Adrienne said, suddenly furious with Lucas. How could he not tell her when Skye was going to be in Brace’s company tonight? But then, Lucas didn’t know Brace would be driving Rachel and Skye to the gala. Not even she had known.

  “I don’t like this,” she said emphatically. “I have a bad feeling—”

  “Oh, you and your bad feelings,” Vicky said dismissively. “Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been having baaaaad feelings.”

  Adrienne ignored her sister. “I’m going to call Skye and tell her not to get in the car with Brace.”

  “She’s probably already on her way,” Vicky said. “I’m sure Brace has picked up her and Rachel by now. Quit worrying. You’re being a huge drag.”

  Adrienne glared at Vicky. “I don’t care if I’m being a huge drag. I can’t believe I left my daughter in your care. Of course, when I did, I thought you’d have the good sense not to drink all afternoon and lose your common sense!”

  “I did not drink all afternoon,” Vicky snarled. “I had one drink to calm my nerves. How dare you accuse me of being drunk and neglectful of a child!”

  Philip appeared beside them, a tense smile locked onto his patrician face. “If you two ladies don’t lower your voices,” he hissed, “I am going to drag you both out You’re making a scene.” He scowled at Drew. “What are you doing here, Delaney?”

  “Covering the event for the newspaper,” Drew said casually. “And I must say, it’s turning out to be much livelier than I’d counted on. It should make for good reading tomorrow.”

  “Oh God,” Philip moaned quietly.

  At that moment Miss Snow sailed up to them, her smile almost as stiff as Philip’s. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” Vicky said loudly. “Adrienne’s just being difficult”

  “Adrienne has a talent for being difficult,” Miss Snow said with false sweetness. She held up a small, beaded evening bag. “This was lying on the table by the door. Is it yours, Adrienne?”

  “Yes. I forgot to take it upstairs.”

  “Well, do so now, please. It keeps ringing. It’s very distracting.”

  Adrienne grabbed for the purse and withdrew her cell phone, which was indeed ringing. The number on the digital readout was Skye’s. Adrienne turned on the phone and almost shouted, “Skye? Where are you?”

  At first, Adrienne heard only a sob. A frightened, wrenching sob. Then Skye cried, “Mommy, you have to come to the Belle. Hurry! Mr. Shaw—Miles—is hurt. Maybe dying. I’m so scared—” She sobbed again, “No! Don’t!”

  The phone went dead.

  NINETEEN

  1

  Adrienne kept repeating “Skye? Skye?” until finally Drew took the phone out of her shaking hand.

  “What is it?” he asked tensely.

  “She said I had to come to the Belle because Miles was hurt, maybe dead. She said to hurry, she was scared. Then she was shouting no and don’t … and then the phone clicked off.” Adrienne’s entire body had begun to quiver. “Why is she at the Belle with Miles Shaw?”

  “Is Rachel with her?” Vicky cried, clapping her hand over her mouth.

  “It’s a prank,” Philip pronounced. “Because of the murder, the kids thought it would be funny to scare us, even though it’s in the worst possible taste and Rachel and Bruce should certainly know better at their ages.”

  “It is not a prank,” Adrienne nearly shouted at him. “You didn’t hear Skye’s voice. I have to get to la Belle.”

  “I’ll take you,” Drew said, already reaching in his pocket for his keys. “You can call the police on the way.”

  “The police!” Philip looked horrified. “If this is just a prank and Rachel is involved, do you know the bad publicity I could get out of this?”

  “Shut up, Philip.” Vicky suddenly looked sober and implacable. “Just for once in your life think about Rachel instead of your all-consuming political career. Adrienne is right. Something’s wrong. Now are you going with me, or are you going to have all these people know you’d rather stand here glad-handing when your daughter might be in trouble?”

  Philip looked stricken for a moment. To Adrienne’s horror, she thought he couldn’t make up
his mind what to do. Then he reached out and took Vicky’s arm. “We’ll go to the hotel.”

  After a few words to a baffled Miss Snow, who looked tragic that her whole carefully planned evening seemed to be falling apart, the four of them spilled out of the French Art Colony and headed for their cars.

  At nine o’clock daylight saving time the sky had turned to cobalt and amethyst with a streak of coral near the horizon. Philip had not even asked Adrienne if she wanted to ride with him and Vicky, no doubt because Drew clearly meant to accompany her. Drew steered Adrienne toward his Camaro. “Put on your seat belt. I’m not wasting any time getting to la Belle,” he said.

  As he pulled away from the curb, Adrienne dialed Skye’s number again. Skye’s phone was turned off. “Oh God, Drew, what do you suppose has happened?” she nearly wailed.

  “I have no idea, but you’d better call Lucas.”

  “I’m so rattled I didn’t even think of him.” Frantically she punched in the numbers to his cell phone, but she got only his voice mail. She called police headquarters, but his secretary Naomi said she hadn’t seen him for hours. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Reynolds?” she asked, trepidation edging her voice. “Nothing bad has happened, has it? To you or your daughter or … well, to Rachel?”

  “To Rachel?” Adrienne asked sharply. “Why would you think something might have happened to Rachel? I didn’t even know you knew her.”

  “Oh, she comes in now and then trying to dig up a little news. This is supposed to be Bruce Allard’s beat, but you know Rachel. She likes to get the scoop.”

  “But why did you think something might have happened to her?” Adrienne had heard Lucas speak of Naomi a couple of times. He didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, and planned on getting rid of her as soon as possible. “Do you know something about Rachel, Naomi? If you do, you must tell me because there could be something wrong.”

  “Oh gosh.” Adrienne nearly held her breath. Naomi was on the verge of saying something important. Then she changed her mind. “I don’t know anything. Certainly not about missing files or photos. I don’t know why I even mentioned Rachel except that we’re friends. Listen, I’m working overtime and going home soon, but I’ll tell the sheriff you’re looking for him if he calls in.” She hung up.