The door to the connecting corridor was also open. Juliana rushed into the corridor, turning on lights. To her relief, Cort was in his crib in the dressing room on his hands and knees, his bum jutting up into the air, cranky sobs shaking his tiny body.
“I’m here, pumpkin. Mommy’s here now,” she said, shushing him as she lifted him into her arms. She tucked his favorite blanket around him and marched into Hunter’s room. Snatching the phone from its cradle, she punched the button to summon Lars.
“Lars, I need help,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Someone entered Hunter’s room a few minutes ago—and it wasn’t Hunter.”
Wrapped in Hunter’s bathrobe to take the chill off, Juliana was pacing back and forth in Hunter’s room, trying to put Cort back to sleep when Lars arrived. He’d pulled on jeans and a T-shirt that revealed muscles layered one atop the other like scoops of hard-packed ice cream. She felt moderately better. He wasn’t Hunter, but he’d do in a pinch.
“What happened?”
She calmly explained.
Lars examined the door. “It was probably Parrish.”
“Parrish?”
“He has monster nightmares and he probably came to get Hunter to chase them out a window. Happens at least three times a month. This door has never been unlocked and he knows it stays locked and that he’s not allowed in there. The boys don’t respect many rules, but they do know that Hunter’s office, that room and the greenhouse are off limits. Parrish probably saw the door was open and locked it, then got scared when he heard your voice. I’ll go check on him.”
Juliana breathed a sigh of relief as she massaged Cort’s back. “Thank heavens that’s all it was. Please tell Parrish I’m sorry I scared him.”
She’d crawled into Hunter’s bed with Cort snuggled beside her and was dozing off when a discreet tap sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called softly.
Lars stuck his head into the room. “Thought you’d want to know that Parrish did have a nightmare.”
“Thank you, Lars.”
“Sleep well, madam.”
“I will once my husband gets home.” Juliana kissed Cort’s downy head and smiled into the darkness, taking comfort from being in Hunter’s room, among his things, in his bed.
She’d go back to her own bed once he returned.
HUNTER’S PLAN TO RETRIEVE Annette was put on hold by a phone call from his operative who’d located the Collingwoods’ cook, Nonnie Wilson, at a New Age retreat in a small Quebec village about one hundred kilometers east of Ottawa.
“There’s more,” Edwards told him. “The sous-chef told me Nonnie has a thriving catering business on the side. Does the odd special job for some of the Collingwoods’ friends and associates. The Collingwoods didn’t seem to mind as long as it didn’t affect her responsibilities to them.”
“Did the sous-chef mention any names?”
“Several. Simon Findlay, David Younge and Sable Holden.”
Hunter didn’t need to think twice about making a detour to Canada. He called Investigator Bradshaw and told him he’d personally escort the cook back to New York.
Then he called the operative assigned to Simon Findlay. “What’s Findlay been up to lately?” he demanded.
“Right now, he’s having dinner with his fiancée and another woman at Tavern on the Green. The fiancée’s a looker, if you know what I mean. I gotta say, for a man who buried his boss yesterday, Findlay looks very happy. He just ordered a bottle of champagne.”
“Who’s the other woman?”
“I don’t know. But I’m on it, boss.”
“Let me know as soon as you find out.”
Hunter dropped the cell phone back into his pocket and massaged his temples. So many leads. So many possibilities.
He just had to stay focused.
He’d deal with Nonnie Wilson first.
Full-figured, with an unruly mop of corkscrew curls, Ms. Wilson was not thrilled about having her Ayurvedic massage cut short. She stormed into the Indian-style lodge wearing a thick white bathrobe and leopard-print slippers. “This had better be important,” she told him.
Hunter led her to a pair of chairs in a quiet corner and introduced himself as The Guardian.
“I’ve heard of you,” Nonnie said impatiently. “Don’t tell me Mr. Collingwood changed his mind about giving me this week off and sent you to find me. Doesn’t anyone understand that I need this time to balance myself spiritually, emotionally and mentally? Hands are the servant of the brain.”
“Have you watched the news lately, Ms. Wilson?”
She looked at him as if he didn’t have a brain. “No. What’s the point of going on a retreat to escape the outside world if you bring it with you?”
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood died tragically last Friday evening. The funeral was Wednesday.”
Nonnie let out a high-pitched squeak that raised the skin on the back of his neck and brought the clerk at the desk running to inquire if everything was all right. Hunter dispatched the clerk to fetch Nonnie a glass of water.
“The police have been searching for you. They’d like to ask you some questions.”
Her face turned pasty. “Me? Why?”
“The Collingwoods were murdered in an explosion. Your unexplained disappearance suggests you may have been involved.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would I kill them? Do you have any idea how much money they pay me?”
Probably far more than she was humanly worth, Hunter guessed, judging from her lack of emotion over her employers’ deaths. “When did you speak to the Collingwoods last?”
“Thursday morning. Mrs. Collingwood came into the kitchen with a beautiful smile on her face and told me that she and Mr. Collingwood were going on an unexpected trip and I could enjoy a much deserved holiday.”
“Did Mrs. Collingwood mention their destination?”
“No.”
Her pencil-thin brows drew together with mounting alarm. “Did you say the funeral was Wednesday? That can’t be. Was there a reception? Who prepared the food? Why was I not contacted?”
“Did you leave a number with someone?”
“Yes. With Goodhew.”
“He was injured in the explosion and is still in the hospital in a coma.”
Nonnie took this news as if it were another inconvenience to her personally. “I suppose this means I’m unemployed.”
“I’m sure a chef of your renown will have offers to choose from. Perhaps Mr. Findlay or Mr. Younge—or even Ms. Holden—will snap you up? I understand you’ve catered private functions for them?”
“Only Mr. Findlay’s engagement party and a birthday party for Mrs. Younge. She loves my vegetarian torta, and I’m the only chef she trusts implicitly with her special dietary needs.”
“What about Ms. Holden?”
“That woman? Please! She had a red aura around her that was too draining. I met with her once to discuss the possibility of a small dinner party—six guests—but I couldn’t work under those conditions.”
He didn’t trust a word out of Nonnie’s mouth. Maybe Investigator Bradshaw would get more out of her. He told her to pack her things. He was taking her back to New York tonight.
“But I’m supposed to have my Shirodara treatment! It has to be left on overnight.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience. But I’m sure you don’t want to keep the police or the network entertainment shows waiting. There’s been a lot of speculation about your disappearance.”
That perked up her attitude. He gave her a ten-minute head start, then went to the desk to settle her bill. He studied the computer printout of her room charges. Just as he’d hoped, Nonnie had made a brief long-distance phone call the minute she’d returned to her room.
He punched the number into his cell phone.
“Younge residence,” a tense female voice said.
He hung up thoughtfully. Was Nonnie the mole in the Collingwood staff?
HUNTER WASN
’T BACK by morning.
Cort woke her just before seven with a ditty of vowel sounds, his blue eyes joyous as a sunny day. Juliana shared a morning cuddle with him, peppering him with kisses. Oh, she loved him! She couldn’t even remotely consider taking care of him as being a sacrifice on her part. He was such a good baby!
She promised herself and she promised Lexi that Cort would have a happy life. Lexi had embraced life, lived it with courage in the face of losing her first child, and Juliana would do no less in her memory. Even if it meant accepting that Hunter would never love her the way she loved him.
Reaching for the phone, she called the hospital and checked on her father. There was still no change in his condition. But she wasn’t giving up hope. She asked Hunter’s operative to hold the phone to her father’s ear and talked to him for a few minutes, telling him that Gord was coming for another visit tonight and would stay nearby over the weekend.
She prayed that even though he was unconscious her father would be reassured by her voice and that it would make a difference in his recovery.
She debated calling Hunter on his cell phone, then decided he would call if he was going to be delayed much longer.
She brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Still wearing Hunter’s bathrobe and her slippers, she followed the scent of coffee downstairs.
The household was awake and lively. As she reached the foyer she could hear Mackensie and Parrish making engine noises in the morning room and the clink of dishes in the kitchen.
As she entered the morning room, Brook glanced up from the table where she was reviewing Mackensie’s homework. “Good morning.” Her expression instantly turned contrite. “Oh, dear. You look as if you could use a cup of coffee. I’m sorry about last night. I was so tired I didn’t hear Parrish get up and neither did Prudy.”
“No harm done, really.” Juliana smiled at Parrish, who’d dropped the slice of honeydew melon he was using as an airplane and was studiously ignoring her. “I didn’t know it was you in Hunter’s room.”
Parrish looked at his mother, his brow furrowed. “Did the monster scare the aunt lady, too?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m wearing your uncle’s bathrobe.”
Brook tapped her son on the tip of his freckled nose. “Her name’s Juliana.”
“There’s no such thing as monsters,” Mackensie said with the bored arrogant tone of an eight-year-old who knows everything. With his dark good looks and competitive streak, Juliana had no doubt Mackensie would be running the family business one day and making money hand over fist.
Smothering a grin, Juliana slid Cort into his highchair and put a couple of toys on the tray to amuse him. Lars brought in Cort’s antibiotics and a bottle, but the baby was too engrossed in Mackensie’s and Parrish’s antics with their banana-chocolate-chip pancakes to drink it. Juliana decided to start with coffee and work up to an appetite.
Brook handed Mackensie his homework. “It looks great. Finish your breakfast. The chopper leaves in fifteen minutes and you still need to brush your teeth. Prudy will take you in today. I’m taking the morning off to spend with Juliana.”
Juliana met Brook’s gaze over the rim of her coffee cup.
“If I’m not imposing,” Brook added.
“Not at all, I’d love it.” She had a feeling Hunter was going to be the topic of conversation, which suited her just fine.
Brook finished her coffee. “Let me get Mackensie off to school. When you’re ready, I’ll give you a tour of the island.”
After Brook had hustled Mackensie upstairs to brush his teeth, Juliana tried again to give Cort his bottle.
Parrish sat in his chair eating his pancakes, a watchfulness in his brown eyes that reminded her of Hunter. Like his uncle, Parrish didn’t trust easily.
Suddenly he hopped off his chair and tugged on the sleeve of her robe. “Aunt lady, did you make the monster go out the window?”
“What? Yes, sweetheart, I did,” she assured him, remembering what Lars had told her about Parrish’s monsters.
Parrish nodded his head. “Good. He was a big one. I think he wanted the baby.”
IN THE BASEMENT, the killer’s accomplice had found a hiding spot.
He’d ended up in the basement through a door beneath the main staircase and had wandered through the warren of stone tunnels until he’d found an unlocked storage room. Light from a small dirt-streaked window made it possible to make a pallet on the hard-packed gravel behind an old trunk using some drop cloths he’d found folded on a shelf.
He stared up at the brick ceiling.
He’d missed his chance last night. Juliana had almost caught him. But now he knew where the baby slept.
There’d be other chances. He just had to be patient.
Chapter Thirteen
Brook insisted they leave Cort and Parrish in the servants’ capable hands for the duration of the tour. “I can’t utter a coherent sentence when I’m watching Parrish. He’s so curious. Last month he picked up a black rat snake and brought it to show me.” She put her hand over her heart. “Thank God they aren’t poisonous! I let Lars take care of the snake.”
Juliana laughed as Brook shuddered. With every passing moment she liked her sister-in-law more.
They went out the main entrance and down the grand granite staircase Juliana remembered from her arrival. It was a beautiful late September morning. Sunshine spilled around them taking the chill out of the wind from the river, and a herring gull circled overhead. “I wanted to show you the front of the house in the daylight. It faces the main river channel. When my grandparents and my parents entertained, guests would arrive in their yachts at the dock and pass through the stone arch and stroll through the gardens up to the main entrance. There were lanterns in the trees and a string quartet. My mother loved garden parties.”
Juliana could imagine it all. “It must have been lovely.”
Brook’s eyebrows arched. “It was an illusion and like all illusions it finally shattered.”
A chill passed over Juliana’s spine at her words. Was her marriage to Hunter only an illusion?
Brook hooked her arm through Juliana’s, taking her on a stone-walled path around the east wing of the house, past a terrace that was perfect for outdoor entertaining to the formal rose garden and symmetrically arranged flower gardens at the rear of the house. They stopped to admire the wood nymph fountain that was the centerpiece of the rose garden. “Did Hunter tell you about our mother?”
“Some. He mentioned her infidelities and that she committed suicide.”
“I’m surprised he told you that much. He keeps all that locked up along with the greenhouse and mother’s room.”
Juliana’s gaze was drawn to the greenhouse at the rear of the garden. Tucked behind two mature trees with vibrant purple foliage, the stone foundation and glass walls of the greenhouse were nearly obscured by vines. “Why does he keep the greenhouse locked?”
“That’s where my mother entertained her lovers. It was her favorite place. No one ever questioned the time she spent there—except our butler. He’d convinced himself he was doing my father a favor by revealing mother’s indiscretions.”
Juliana felt nauseated. The family butler had blackmailed Hunter’s father! Little wonder Hunter had questioned her father’s generous inheritance from Ross. He’d learned from bitter experience that even the most trusted servant might be capable of betrayal. Did Hunter think she would betray him? Was that why he kept holding her at arm’s length?
Brook tucked her short dark hair behind her ears, her voice resigned. “It’s also where she chose to die.”
“Oh, Brook, I’m so sorry. Hunter didn’t tell me that.” She squeezed her sister-in-law’s arm in sympathy. “My mother died when I was twelve. I don’t think missing them is something you ever get over.”
“Yes, well, it was a long time ago. We were children.” They retraced their steps to the fountain and took another path between a row of boxwood hedges and flower beds. “At least Hunter’s op
ened the door to mother’s room by marrying you.”
Juliana found herself blushing. “Yes, it’s been opened and will be redecorated very soon.”
“Sooner than you think. Lars asked my advice about a decorator and I took the liberty of calling an old friend. She’ll be here early this afternoon with paint and fabric samples. It’s on me. Consider it a wedding present.”
Juliana stopped on the stone path. She and Brook hardly knew each other, but she hugged her tightly. After the last year of isolation in Cleveland, it felt wonderful to have a friend her age. Emotion choked her voice. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
With a laugh, Brook wiped a tear off her own cheek. “You’re going to be good for my brother. Just don’t let him push you away.”
Don’t let him push you away!
Truer words were never spoken, cutting through the miasma of doubts that had been circling in Juliana’s mind since she’d made the heartbreaking discovery that Hunter was fighting his desire for her with every ounce of determination in him. Her heart pounded unsteadily against her ribs.
He’d made love to her with such fierce unrestrained emotion that she couldn’t let herself consider for an instant that it hadn’t been genuine.
He needed her. His kisses and his touches gave him away. But he was so afraid of being betrayed, so afraid of completely trusting her and loving her—of being made a fool of as his father had been—that he would deny that need existed.
And she’d allowed him to keep her at arm’s length without a word of protest, just as she’d enabled her father’s efforts to push her away after Michael’s death. The fear that Hunter would banish her from Cort’s life and that she would once again fail her father’s expectations of her had pushed her into agreeing to Hunter’s terms of their marriage.
Well, no more.
The Butler's Daughter Page 18
