“I’ve always wanted to ride around Oaklawn, but as many times as I’ve been here, I’ve never done it.” Richard got the mare and started grooming her.
“I understand Talla wasn’t much for horses.”
“She hated them. It was an unreasonable hatred, as far as I could tell. No reason for it.”
“Jeff implied it was because Clay loved them,” Connor suggested.
“You might be on to something there. There was an edge to Talla. She went for the balls whenever she was mad at you. And she had an uncanny knack for discovering your weaknesses. She took no prisoners.”
“She sounds utterly delightful.”
Richard laughed. “She had her moments.”
“So Jeff has indicated.”
Laughing even harder, Richard looked over Tinker to catch Connor’s eyes. “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear?”
“It would be ridiculous to be jealous of a dead woman, especially one that didn’t exactly cherish her husband’s feelings.”
“That’s one thing Talla can never be accused of. She was generous if it pleased her, but she thought of no one except herself.”
“Let’s ride,” Connor said, fastening the cavasan on Cleo’s nose.
They left the barn at a brisk trot, and without conversation. Connor took the lead and set a mile-gobbling pace. It wasn’t until Richard called out for her to slow that she reluctantly brought Cleo down to a walk.
“If you want me to leave, just say so, you don’t have to try to kill me,” Richard said.
Connor’s smile was wry. “Sorry, I guess I had a lot on my mind and just rode.”
“I’ve been thinking about something. You mentioned something to Jeff about a woman that you’ve seen around the house. What’s that all about?”
Checking Cleo back, Connor waited for Richard to draw abreast of her so they could walk and talk. She told him the story of the stranger in the woods and the children’s wild imaginings. But when she got to the part about tumbling down the stairs Christmas Eve, she was surprised by the look of worry on Richard’s handsome face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Richard looked past her into the woods as if he were suddenly absorbed by the leafless trees.
“Why is it that I get treated like a witless child around here? You and Willene both act like there’s some big secret that I’m not old enough to hear.”
“Sorry, Connor.” Richard reached over and patted her leg. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when gossip is helpful and when it’s just damaging.”
“Like the fact that Clay’s wife committed suicide?”
Instead of smiling, Richard sighed. “That’s right. If I’d told you that, it might have influenced you not to take this job. You might not be involved with Clay Sumner right this minute. And I feel guilty about that. I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have, because it affects the children and my job, not me, or my feelings for Clay.”
“Okay, but remember you asked to hear this. Before she died, Talla said she was certain there was someone else in the house, a woman who was dogging her footsteps. She thought it was one of Clay’s mistresses.”
“And was it?” Connor kept the pain out of her voice, even though she thought she’d die doing it. How many times would “Clay’s mistresses” be brought up as if they were legion? Was it possible that he’d lied to her?
“I don’t know.” Richard’s face was lined with worry and regret. “Talla told me this the day she died. She was upset and furious. She said Clay had deliberately set out to drive her insane. Have you been in the garden room, the one with the small pool?”
Connor nodded. “I walked in. No one ever seems to use it.”
“That was Talla’s private domain. She hated Oaklawn and she had the room completely stripped and restructured. No one in the family, not even Clay, was allowed in that room.”
“Where is all this leading?”
“The last time I saw Talla, she said she had been in the pool. She was doing some of that facial stuff with icepacks and slices of kiwi on her eyes. She said when she sat up to get a drink, she saw someone reflected in the mirrors in the hallway. It was a woman, one of Clay’s mistresses, she insisted. The woman was there watching her.”
“She was sure it was one of Clay’s mistresses? Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?”
Richard didn’t comment for several seconds. “That was what she said, Connor. I think she really believed it. But Talla had her own agenda, and she had a fondness for chemical substances. She also liked her moments of high drama. Being stalked by a lethal mistress was a role she’d enjoy playing to the hilt.”
The night she’d fallen down the steps came back to Connor. After Harlan had checked her over, he and Clay had gone out of the room. They’d argued, and Harlan had accused Clay of neglecting to watch out for what Talla took. And there had been a reference to Clay’s mistresses once again. The taste of iron filled the back of her throat and her stomach roiled.
“Is the point of this story to pound me over the head with Clay’s neglect of his dead wife or his mistresses?”
“Hey, don’t put on the ice princess front with me. You insisted on hearing this. I wasn’t keen on telling you, but you said you had a right to know the facts. Now you can’t hold it against me that you don’t like what you hear.”
Richard’s indignation was justified. Connor reached over and laid her hand on his knee as the horses walked easily side-by-side down the path. “You’re right. I insisted on hearing this.”
“I know it isn’t easy stuff to listen to, and I never cared enough to check any of it out. If Clay had mistresses, Talla had plenty of men, everybody from Clay’s friends to his hired help. I figured he might need someone to be kind to him once in a while.”
“That’s pretty sad,” Connor said. “You’d think they’d divorce.”
“Not on your life. You never took me seriously when I talked about the structure of society here. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. If Clay really wants to get elected, he has to present the perfect facade. Loving wife; happy, healthy children; well-managed career; robust health—and I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes home with a dog in the near future. Somthing like a Labrador or a cocker spaniel. A dog that people around here can identify with. Lab if its his dog, cocker if it’s for the children.”
There had been a time when Connor would have laughed at the calculating picture Richard drew, but not now. It impacted her life too critically now to laugh at.
“Divorce for Clay was absolutely out of the question, or I believe he would have gotten one. It would have been a blessing to his children.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t believe, as smart as Renata is, that she didn’t have some idea what was going on. You have to wonder what she was doing at the barn the night Talla hanged herself.”
“I’d never thought of it in that way. I’d always assumed she’d awakened and gone to find her mother.”
“At the barn?” Richard shook his head. “Hardly the spot I’d look for Talla. Renata must have followed her. She had to have watched the entire thing.”
Connor felt tears sting her eyes. “I hope not. I sincerely hope you’re wrong about that. Can you imagine helplessly watching your mother kill herself?”
“That’s another assumption, Connor. Renata is not helpless. She’s a child, but she isn’t helpless, and I’m not so certain she’s innocent.”
Connor thought about what he was saying. Renata was terribly calculating in some ways. Very manipulative, especially with her father. But weren’t most children—at least, most insecure children?
“I think Renata’s seen some things that have … twisted her, for want of a better word.” Connor had a sudden impulse to take up for the troubled girl.
“No doubt about that. Even before Talla died, that was true. But sometimes that kid would look at me, and it was like she was a little adult in a kid’s body. As if she
were figuring out the angles, how she could use me to get what she wanted from her mother.” Richard wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like children to begin with. Odious little creatures. But Renata was always more adult than child. Perhaps that’s why I tolerated her and also despised her.”
“That’s pretty strong.” Connor wasn’t shocked. Richard had never made a secret of his dislike for kids. He more often made a joke out of it, but Connor knew that he’d had a vasectomy—another point of horror and mortification on the part of his parents. How dare he not procreate and carry on the Brian name!
“Renata is very fond of you,” Connor continued. “She’ll be at the barn when we get back.”
“She said she wanted to see me?” Richard sounded dubious. “Was she holding a loaded gun? I figured that kid would only want to see me if she could shoot me.”
“Very funny. Even Willene said you were one of her favorites.”
“What a nice phrase, ‘one of her favorites.’ “ Connor laughed, not a full-blown, easy laugh, but some of the tension was passing. “Those were Willene’s words.”
“And you wonder why I hate Mobile. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. What they don’t know they make up.” He patted Tinker’s neck. “Let’s give these nags some space to run. I’m sick of this whole conversation. If you want a real character assassination on any member of the Sumner or Bienville family, or anyone who’s ever visited or called them, I’ll put you in touch with my sweet old Sugar-baby of a mother. She’ll be glad to fill in any gaps I’ve left.”
Connor did laugh this time. “That’s okay. I can do without the juicy details.”
“Good. Let’s ride.”
He put Tinker in a gallop, and Connor let him take the lead. It didn’t matter which path he took, she knew them all.
The cold air made the horses frisky, and Connor was careful to keep Cleo back a safe distance from Tinker’s flying heels. There was a point coming up where the path forked. She made a silent bet with herself that Richard would go right. Grinning at the pleasure she found in the ride, she eased her weight off Cleo’s back and rose to a two-point position. She was completely unprepared when Richard’s horse suddenly went up in the air.
There was the wild scream of a frightened animal mingling with Richard’s hoarse cry. Before she could see what had happened, Connor felt Cleo leap to the left to avoid ramming into Tinker. At the moment the horse lunged, she felt her girth give. The saddle slid completely down the horse’s right side.
“Connor!”
Grabbing mane and clinging with all of her strength, Connor looked up to see Richard’s horrified expression. She was going over the side, right under Tinker’s dancing hooves.
Connor and the saddle hit the ground between the two horses. Tinker, already upset, reared again. Instinctively Connor rolled, using the saddle as a shield. Tinker’s right front hoof struck the leather of the saddle before Connor could roll under Cleo.
Both horses were screaming with panic.
“Connor!”
She could hear the agony in Richard’s voice, but she was too busy concentrating on dodging among the horses’ hooves to answer. Both horses were doing their best to avoid stepping on her, but she was caught between them. Each time one panicked, she stood a chance of getting stomped. And the idea of twelve hundred pounds coming down on her head, or stomach, or chest, wasn’t exactly thrilling.
She rolled to a clear space, and with a few seconds to spare, she scrambled to her knees. Her body was throbbing with pain—all the sore muscles from her trip down the stairs had been reactivated.
Once on her knees, she was able to grab Tinker’s reins. In another moment, she was on her feet and soothing the frightened horses. Richard was on his feet beside her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice shook. “I’m honestly fine, but I’ve had the shit scared out of me.”
“What happened?” Richard’s face was white and his voice hushed.
Connor handed him Cleo’s reins while she went to the middle of the path and retrieved her saddle. The girth hung loose, buckled only on the left side. The right side had broken.
“Your girth gave?” Richard’s voice reflected his disbelief.
“Apparently.” Connor flipped the saddle over and began to examine it. The stitching was sound, unrotted. She unbuckled the girth and carefully studied it. Her heartbeat increased as her fingernails scratched at the stitching. The threads were not frayed or worn, as if they’d broken from use. They were carefully cut—very carefully cut. Snipped just enough so that during a moment of stress they’d give. She looked up at Richard.
“Why did Tinker spook?” she asked calmly.
“There was something in the woods. Or someone. I didn’t get a clear look, but something darted as if it were going to rush into the path. Tinker saw it much better than I, and she stopped and reared. I was so busy trying not to fall off on my head that I didn’t really look to see what it was.”
Connor swallowed. “Did you remember anything?”
“Blue. Whatever or whoever it was, it was blue.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lunch was a quiet meal. Absorbed in her thoughts, Connor finally picked up on the tension at the table. Willene hustled back and forth from the kitchen, avoiding Richard’s attempts at light conversation as if she might catch the plague from exchanging greetings with him. Renata and Danny ate fast, eager for a ride in the woods.
“You two know when the holidays are over we’re going back to afternoon lessons,” Connor told them as they prepared to hurry down to the barn. The hustle and bustle of Christmas had waylaid her aggressive lesson schedule.
“Every afternoon?” Renata looked worried.
“Five times a week. Your father is going to expect you to be very accomplished by the end of May. That gives me only another five months to work with you.” Connor tried to coax a grin out of Renata. “Just think, after that you’ll be on your own, without a riding teacher to torment you.”
“Exactly,” Renata said, her brown eyes dancing with her own thoughts. “See you later, Uncle Richard.”
They were gone in a flash, out the front door and across the porch, laughing and giggling as they went.
“Renata didn’t seem too eager to spend time with you,” Connor said. She dropped her shoulders and slouched, sighing with relief. Her back was killing her. “Every muscle and bone in my body hurts.”
“You’re lucky you aren’t wearing a hoofprint on your forehead.” Richard’s tone was dark. “Will Clay be here this afternoon?”
“He’s supposed to come back to Oaklawn no later than dinner, but the scheduling is hard on him. It all depends on how things go with his campaign strategy planning session.”
“How do you feel about that?” Richard toyed with the crumbs of the Mississippi Mud Cake that Willene had served for dessert.
“Clay and I don’t often talk about the campaign. I’m not sure how it will affect me,” Connor answered. “I don’t know if I want to participate in it or not. I don’t know if I can become part of that kind of life.”
“Has Clay asked you to do that?”
Richard’s question was softly put, as if he knew already that Clay had not.
“No.” Connor looked down at her empty coffee cup. It stung her pride to give that answer. Clay had scrupulously avoided talking about the distant future—after May, when she was due to leave. “I guess I’m jumping the boat to worry about that kind of thing. Maybe Clay has no intention of weighting down his future with a California horse trainer.”
“He well may not.” Richard sighed. “I don’t want to be brutal, but I also don’t want to give you false hope. Clay will become a United States Senator, and he’ll sacrifice whatever it takes to get there. Even if it’s you. Even if he loves you.”
“That’s not very encouraging. In fact, it’s pretty discouraging.”
Richard put his head back and looked up at the ceiling.
“At the moment, I�
�m a little more worried about your physical safety than I am about your love for Clay.”
Connor turned her head. Someone was standing outside the dining room door. She reached across the table and put her hand on Richard’s, tilting her head toward the closed door. He nodded that he understood.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said.
They were deep in the pecan orchard before Connor spoke. Clouds were building over the western horizon. It would be an early dusk and a stormy night. The sky reflected her own growing anxiety.
“Richard, don’t tell anyone about the girth.” She saw the protest rising on his lips and she stopped it with a touch of her fingers. “Please. I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think you have any comprehension of what you’re doing, of what you’re toying with.” As if to emphasize his words, a gust of wind blasted through the orchard, rattling the few leaves left on the pecans. “This place is cursed. If not from the dead, then from the living. Someone is trying to hurt you.”
“Really, I know what I’m doing. That girth was cut deliberately. Someone meant to harm me, and I know it.”
“Which is exactly why you need to tell Clay. Surely he won’t allow you to risk your neck anymore. If you don’t have enough sense to realize the dangers, maybe he will. And maybe he’ll take the necessary steps to protect you.”
Connor scooped up a handful of the brittle leaves and crushed them in her hand. “That’s right. He’ll want me to leave.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and that might be the best thing. I mean, who would want to see you break your neck around here? Cutting that girth was the same thing as a physical assault.” He grabbed her shoulders. “The only difference is that one would be obvious, and the other is sneaky. Who would want to hurt you like that?”
“There is one possibility.” Connor hesitated. Once she said it, there was no taking it back. And she had no proof, only intuition. “It might be Renata. I don’t think she wants to hurt me, but I do believe she’d like to frighten me away.”
Deception Page 25
