Deception

by Carolyn Haines

  “He can hardly speak of it,” Willene said. “ ‘Course, he never had to, everyone else was more than willing.” She shook her head. “Seems like he blames himself.” Her dark eyes, behind her glasses, locked on Connor. “It ain’t my place to judge, but maybe he should. More men ought to. The longer I live, the more I see that men go about their business, doin’ their important work. If Mr. Clay had looked at Ms. Talla a few times, he’d have seen she was suffering. But that’s a man. They never get the blame.”

  “I’d better check the horses.” Connor stepped away from Willene. The expression on the older woman’s face was sad, almost tormented. Willene had been as much a part of the household as any blood member. She’d suffered like all the rest. The tragedy of Talla Sumner’s death was two years old, but it was as fresh and bitter as if it had happened only hours before.

  “I’ll be at the barn,” Connor said, as she walked out the door. Clay Sumner had deceived her, but not as grandly as she’d deceived herself. She’d known that the money was too good for a simple teaching/training job. She’d known it all along.

  She took her time walking down the path that wove through the pecan trees and past several beds of brilliant salvias, petunias, and lavender.

  Tinker was in the paddock, and she caught the mare and walked her into the barn. An afternoon ride would help her think. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the barn, but when she did, she found Jeff forking shavings into a wheelbarrow. He moved slowly to the first stall on the west side.

  “I thought the horses would get more air here,” he said. “They like to look out and see what’s going on.”

  “Thanks.” Connor hesitated. Maybe Jeff could give her an objective view of the past. “Jeff, have you worked for the Sumners long?”

  “Ten years or so.” He paused, leaning on his pitchfork, perfectly willing to take a break from his work. “I found Mrs. Sumner’s body.”

  The remark was so startling, so unexpected that Connor felt her eyes widen. “What happened?”

  He shrugged, moving the muscles of his chest beneath his T-shirt. “Nobody really knows. There’s been lots of suspicion, but no hard evidence.”

  “You found her?”

  “I came in early to throw some feed to the horses, and there she was, hanging from a rafter. There was a tack trunk under her feet and her heels were hitting against the side of it, just tapping. One of her slippers had fallen off, and the other was just barely hanging on.” He put the pitchfork against the stall and walked closer to Connor.

  The pupils of his eyes were dilated in the darkness of the barn. Connor shifted closer to Tinker, her hand automatically stroking the horse’s neck. “How horrible.”

  “It’s funny, but I remember how her toenails were painted red. I’d never known Ms. Talla to paint her toenails.” His smile was slow, wolfish. “I knew a lot about Ms. Talla. She was a woman who found what she liked and took it. She didn’t give a damn for the consequences.”

  Jeff was only an arm’s reach away. He was watching her, waiting to see the impact his words had on her. For one unreasonable second, Connor wanted to run. She wanted to hitch up her trailer, load her horses, and leave, scattering what was left of Clay Sumner’s fifteen thousand dollars out the window as she drove away.

  Her breath was short. “Why would someone who was terrified of horses come to the barn to kill herself?”

  Jeff shrugged again. “Talla wasn’t afraid of the horses, she just hated them. The more beautiful they were, the more she despised them. At any rate, she must have been doped out of her mind that night, else why would she walk off a tack trunk with a lunge line around her neck?”

  “Had she been ill in some way? Feverish?” There had to be some better reason. As far as Connor could see, the woman had had the major ingredients for happiness—two healthy children, a husband, security, social standing.

  “Mrs. Sumner had a fever all right,” Jeff said, nodding. “She burned with it. Wasn’t nothin’ the doctors could cure, either. Wasn’t but one thing could soothe Ms. Talla’s itch, and she knew where to find it.” He grinned.

  Connor could feel her heart beating beneath her shirt. Would Jeff dare imply he was sleeping with Talla Sumner if it wasn’t true?

  “She’d come out to the barn sometimes, late at night. She’d walk down the aisles, looking at the horses, her dark eyes alive with hatred. She hated this place.”

  “I thought Mr. Sumner told me that he’d quit riding.” Connor’s fingernails pressed into her palms. Tinker, excited by her anxiety, side-danced away from her.

  “He wasn’t riding. But he kept a few horses here, one or two he’d grown fond of. After Ms. Talla died, though, he gave the horses away. Willene knew the folks who took them.” He shook his head. “Willene never misses a trick. She acts like your favorite granny, but she’s always watchin’. Those fancy horses going off to dirt farms, that was a waste. I coulda sold them for a profit.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Sumner wasn’t worried about making money.” Connor couldn’t shake the terrible image of a dead woman dangling in the elegant space of the barn, toenails bright against chalky skin. She had to get out of the barn, into the sunlight. She placed the saddle on Tinker’s back and quickly tacked up.

  “You’re in a mighty big hurry, all of a sudden.” Jeff grinned. “You’re not one of those folks who think the barn might be haunted, are you?”

  Connor tightened the cavasan on her horse and turned to lead her out of the barn. She knew then that Jeff was deliberately trying to spook her. He’d set out to see how badly he could shake her, just for the pleasure of upsetting her. There probably wasn’t a scrap of truth in anything he said. Well, he wasn’t going to win.

  Looking over the horse, she put her foot in the stirrup. “No, Jeff, I’m not one of those people who believe in ghosts.” She flashed him a smile. “Where I come from, ghosts are nothing to worry about. After all, my great-great-grandmother was Hilla Lassfolk, the woman who charmed James Dickerson.” Swinging into the saddle, she nudged Tinker into a fast walk. She had the satisfaction of seeing awe touch Jeff’s face. She’d one-upped him in the story department, and hers was at least true.

  By the time Connor returned, she’d gotten over her worst doubts, and her anger at Jeff. He was a local, a laborer who probably resented the fact that she was hired help and lived in the main house. No matter what he said, the past was gone. Talla Sumner was dead and buried, and it was the children she needed to worry about. Her heart went out to them.

  Connor had suffered through her own mother’s gruesome death. Molly Tremaine had been a bright and happy woman with a quick temper and a gentle touch. Connor missed her, always would. She knew there was no comparison between her life and the Sumner children’s, but she could sympathize with their loss.

  She was considering how to make her initial approach to Renata as she walked to the house to wash up. The children would soon be ready to go to the barn, and it was going to be touch-and-go. As she crossed the patio toward the back door, she heard Willene’s voice raised in anger.

  “Sally, that book caused a terrible amount of grief. Now you have to be more responsible if you want to stay here. I know you weren’t considering the consequences, but you have to think. Those children can’t take much more.”

  The kitchen door opened and slammed and a tearstained Sally stopped at Connor’s look of amazement. “Willene is quick to blame,” she said hastily, wiping her tears. “She never gives me a chance to have my say.”

  “Willene protects those children,” Connor said easily. It wasn’t hard to deduce what had transpired between the cook and the maid. “No harm was done, I don’t think. It’s been two years since Mrs. Sumner died. Who’d have thought Renata would remember the book?”

  “Those children have been spoon-fed every gory detail about their poor mother’s death.” Sally’s voice rose slightly. “They saw it over and over again. It was in all the papers. On television. It’s no wonder Renata is hard to
manage.” Sally wiped her cheeks and most traces of the tears were gone. “But I didn’t leave the book out, and I don’t know who did. Willene’s blamin’ me. She always does, when it suits her fancy.”

  “I don’t think anyone is going to be blamed,” Connor said soothingly.

  Sally looked at the kitchen door and her face hardened. “I’d better get the table set for dinner. Mr. Clay is staying tonight. Renata asked him and he agreed.” She struggled, and finally a smile took shape on her features. “Maybe this old house will light up again with you here. Maybe those poor children will have some fun times and some laughter.”

  “Maybe they will,” Connor agreed. To her surprise, she felt Sally’s light grip on her arm.

  “If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t be stayin’,” the young girl said, before she walked toward the dining room.

  Connor took the stairs, pulling the key to her suite from her pocket. It was awkward, locking her door, but she would lock it until she was used to the house. It was so big. She hated to sound like young Sally, but it did give her a bit of the creeps, and Jeff, talking in the barn like a ghoul, hadn’t helped matters, either. Even Old Henry was morbid—when he talked at all.

  When she pushed open her door, she caught a glimpse of someone standing at the fireplace in her den. She froze, the blood rushing to her head as the woman stood staring at her. For one crazy instant, she thought she was looking at Talla Bienville Sumner. Who else would stand so possessively beside a mantel? With a start Connor finally realized it was her own image. She laughed at her foolishness and closed the door, locking it behind her.

  She’d give it a month. She would find the ponies for Danny and Renata and get them started. If she couldn’t handle the problem, then she’d leave, Clay Sumner and his threats be damned.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Connor stopped beside Renata as they walked down the drive to the barn. “Your brother did very well on Tinker. I think he’s going to make an excellent horseman.”

  She’d decided to split the children up, taking one at a time, Danny first. If her calculations were correct, Renata’s extreme pride and competitiveness would be the best motivating factor. Threats and belittlement were the worst tools to use on any child, but especially on Renata.

  The little girl was staring at the barn, her face expressionless. “I hope your horses die,” she said in a clear voice.

  “Surely you know your father has enough money that he’d just buy more horses. That’s a waste of a good wish.”

  Renata turned her face up. Her brown eyes were calm. “Then I hope you die.”

  “Surely you know your father would simply hire another riding instructor. I’m not the only one in the phonebook.”

  Renata continued to stare at her. “I hope I die. I hope I fall off the horse and break my neck.”

  “Another wasted wish. You wouldn’t even be able to have the fun of watching everyone grieve over you. You’d be dead.” Connor suppressed her smile as she walked ahead. Renata was a tough cookie. She was used to getting her way by shocking the adults around her. Well, that tactic wouldn’t work with Connor. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going in the barn.”

  “You don’t have to. I said you could sit on the horse or sit on the rail and watch me ride.”

  “Why don’t you go back where you came from? Go back to La-la land with Uncle Richard! Just get out of here and leave us alone.” Renata rushed past Connor, running down the path toward the barn. She got twenty feet ahead and then whirled around. “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of you or anything else.”

  “I don’t want you ever to be afraid of me, Renata. I’d like to be your friend and your teacher.”

  “You’ll be sorry you came here. I’ll see to that.” She spun around and ran on ahead, disappearing behind a clump of hydrangeas.

  Connor kept a steady pace to the barn. She had Clay’s full permission to instruct Renata in any way she saw fit. Willene was not to interfere. The problem was figuring out what was most effective on the child without wasting time or making mistakes. Renata was not a child who would forgive easily. A mistake could be fatal in winning her confidence. Cool, detached insistence seemed the best approach.

  When she got to the barn, Renata was nowhere in sight. Connor made a note to ask her about “Uncle Richard.” Richard had never implied that he was close enough to the children to have an honorific title. There were too many things Richard Brian had to answer for. She’d call him as soon as Clay left with the children. Dear Uncle Richard had an earful coming his way.

  She brought Cleo out of the barn and looped the lead line over the rail. She went back in for the grooming kit, and when she came out of the barn, Renata was standing outside the fence.

  “Step through and I’ll show you how to groom.” Connor wasted no movement or expression. She played it dead flat, as if she expected Renata to obey her without question.

  Renata crawled through the fence and came to stand beside Connor.

  “Horses enjoy the feel of the curry comb,” Connor explained, as she helped the little girl loosen the dirt. She showed Renata the way to groom correctly. In the process she gave a little of the history of how the horse had become domesticated. Throughout it all, Renata listened. Her attention never wavered.

  When Cleo was tacked up, Renata consented to sit on the saddle and let Connor lead her around. She was stiff with fear, but she never said a word. She kept her thin face blank.

  “That’s it for today,” Connor said, as she lifted Renata from the saddle, and put her on the ground. “I’ll unsaddle and give Cleo a treat, unless you’d like to do it.”

  “That stupid horse doesn’t deserve a treat,” Renata said, smiling for the first time. “You thought I was beginning to like her, didn’t you? You won’t ever make me like them. You haven’t and you never will.” She ran out of the paddock and disappeared up the drive.

  “I knew it was going too well,” Connor muttered under her breath. She looked up toward the house. She was done for the day. That left twenty-nine, and counting.

  “Richard, it’s your old friend, Connor Tremaine.” She gripped the telephone as she relaxed on her bed. No matter how angry she was, Richard’s voice sounded good. He was her link to an existence that had nothing to do with the troubled Sumner family.

  “What’s wrong, Connor? No bullshit, I can hear it in your voice.”

  “You might have told me Talla Sumner took a long step off a tack trunk in the Sumner barn.” Connor coiled the phone cord as the silence grew. “Well?”

  “Clay didn’t tell you?”

  “It seems you each assumed the other would do the honors. So I got here and confronted an emotionally disturbed eleven-year-old who hates my guts and a haunted house big enough to host an orphanage.”

  “I thought Clay would tell you about Talla.” Richard muttered a low oath. “Damn him to hell. Why did he think I’d blab it to you?”

  “It is something one friend would tell another. Like ‘Hey man, that dude you’re going to work for, well, his wife hanged herself in the barn and the children are a little on the twisted side.’ “

  “I should have mentioned it.” Richard’s voice was filled with regret. “How bad is it?”

  “The little boy is fine. Renata is another matter.”

  “Yeah, she was on her mother like white on rice. They were inseparable. Almost to the point of sickness. The kid has a smart mouth, as I remember, and she pops up in the most unlikely places. She’s like a professional spy. If you’ve got any secrets, watch her.”

  Connor couldn’t help but laugh. Jeff had said virtually the same thing. “She’s an eleven-year-old. How deadly can she be?”

  “That depends on how many secrets you have,” Richard said, and there was no laughter in his voice. “I’m just warning you to watch out for her.”

  “The way things are going, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it longer than a few weeks.”

  “This isn’t Connor Tremain
e, ready to throw in the towel after, what, one full day? Not the Connor Tremaine.”

  “Cut it out, Richard. It’s really bad down here.” Tears suddenly clogged her throat.

  “Connor!” Richard’s worried voice traveled the long distance. “Really, Connor, is it that bad?”

  “Worse,” she said, and then started to laugh through her tears. She gave him a quick rundown on the children, and on Clay’s decision to force her to stay a month.

  “He must be a desperate man. I’ve never known Clay to high-pressure an employee like that. He can be a tough guy in a courtroom or in a meeting. Except for his reputation with women, I’ve heard he was very upfront and a man of his word. I’ve never heard that he was ruthless. I swear it, Connor. But then, it’s been years since I’ve been around him.”

  “Years?”

  “That’s what I said. Why?”

  “Renata called you ‘Uncle Richard.’ “

  There was a pause. “So? Talla liked the children to call people ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt.’ “

  “But you said you hadn’t been around Clay in a long time.” Connor remembered the conversation clearly. It had happened the day she’d decided for certain to take the job.

  “I saw Talla and the children on occasion at the club. When I come home, my family coerces me into participating in this pretentious social scene. There are parties here, parties there, people acting as if they cared whether I had a guest appearance on LA Law or In the Heat of the Night.” He assumed his fake Southern-belle accent. “ ‘Well, honestly Richard, haven’t you been out there in Hollywood long enough to earn yourself one of those feature films, like that handsome Bruce Willis? I mean, how long you got to be out there before you get one?’ “

  Connor chuckled. “I haven’t met your basic country club set, yet. It did surprise me, though, when Renata called you ‘uncle.’ “

  “Talla thought it was cute. The kids liked the idea of an actor in the family, I suppose. Even a bit actor.”

  “How’d the Penny Marshall thing go?”