Always in My Dreams

by Jo Goodman

  Parnell staggered back, clutching his injured wrist. Annie was thrown off balance when Parnell fell into her, and Mrs. Reading had to move into the hallway to avoid being crushed against the doorjamb.

  Walker's long, light stride covered the floor quickly. He calmly picked up the gun and flipped open the barrel. Taking out the bullets, he dropped them into a pocket, then examined the weapon more closely. "This is a short-barrel Colt .45," he said. His tone was emotionless, without inflection. He was not winded or flushed. His posture was casual, relaxed, with no visible sign that anything untoward had just occurred.

  Skye watched Walker's long fingers rub the cool blue-gray Colt like Aladdin must have rubbed his lamp. Shock and fascination stirred her. His words were coming to her as if from a great distance. She was remembering another place and time when she had seen a man strike out with equally graceful menace.

  Walker's eyes lifted from the Colt to Parnell. There was a question in them. "Men who make their living with guns use this weapon," he said. The four and three-quarter inch barrel was preferred by gunfighters for its ease in handling. It had a maple handle and a cutaway trigger guard that could save a shooter a split second in reaching the trigger. "Not what I'd expect you to have."

  Parnell set Annie from him and shook out his injured hand. He didn't respond to Walker's comment and looked at Skye instead. "Are you all right? We all heard you scream."

  More than a little numb by what she had witnessed, Skye nodded. "I'm fine."

  "Then what the hell was it all about?" he demanded impatiently. His brow was furrowed and he raked his thick hair back with his fingers. He looked at Skye, then at Walker.

  It was Walker who spoke. "Let's discuss it privately," he said, his eyes darting to Annie, then to Mrs. Reading.

  Parnell nodded. "Very well." He started to indicate that the women should leave when Walker interrupted.

  "Downstairs," he said. "We'll talk in the parlor."

  Jonathan Parnell's mouth thinned and he let his annoyance clearly show. He had no appreciation for taking orders from his own employee. He was silent about it because Walker's employee status was certainly going to change. His features softened only when he looked at Skye. "Miss Dennehy, do you have anything you wish to say before I listen to Mr. Caide's explanation?"

  Walker interrupted again. "She'll join us."

  Parnell's jaw clenched and a muscle ticked along his jaw line. "Is that your wish?" he asked Skye after a moment.

  She nodded again. "I'd like to change, please."

  "Of course. We'll leave you alone." When Walker didn't move, Parnell emphasized what he meant. "All of us will leave you alone." He waited by the door until Walker finally moved, then held out his hand for his weapon. Walker dropped it into his open palm. To Skye, Parnell said, "Will fifteen minutes be adequate?"

  An eternity would not be adequate. "Yes" was what she said.

  * * *

  "Don't ever countermand me in front of others," Parnell said. The deep-indigo centers of his eyes were hard. The planes and angles of his face were taut with the strength of his anger. His mouth was thin. Tiny white lines were etched at the corners. He was at the sideboard in the parlor pouring a drink, but his attention was all for Walker. He replaced the glass stopper in the decanter. "You overstepped yourself tonight."

  Walker Caide didn't expect to be offered a drink and he wasn't going to ask for one. Right now he needed his wits. He stood by the fireplace, facing Parnell across the room. "You pointed a loaded gun at me," he said calmly. "I take exception to that." He didn't look away from Parnell's leveling stare. "There should never be a next time."

  Walker's unnamed threat hung in the air. Parnell slowly lifted his glass to his lips, then knocked back a large swallow. He poured another. "I should fire you," he said indifferently.

  Walker was only surprised that Parnell hadn't done it yet. "Are you going to?" he asked. There was a certain detached curiosity in his tone, as if it were not his fate he was questioning. He knew Parnell would take pleasure in getting rid of him. His presence was tolerated, not trusted.

  "I haven't decided yet," Parnell said. He moved away from the sideboard and sat in his usual armchair. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the changes precipitated by Skye Dennehy, before settling on Walker again. "I can't fault the work she's done here," he said.

  Most of the shawls and antimacassars that had covered the furniture had been removed. The ones remaining were brightly colored or gleaming white from a recent washing. The surface of every side table in the parlor had been polished. The ashtrays were empty and the only pile of paper in the room was a small stack of sheet music on the piano. Figurines had been rearranged on the mantel and now had the interesting look of objets d'art instead of knickknacks. Even the deep crevices of the ornate portrait frames had been cleaned, giving a whole generation of Granvilles a more flattering appearance. Parnell was impressed by what she had been able to accomplish in a matter of days. Under her direction there was no telling what the staff might be able to do with the house.

  "Why don't you tell me what's going on?" Parnell asked. "Did she welcome your advances or did you force her?"

  Walker had been expecting this. "There were no advances and there was no rape. Anything she says to the contrary is a lie."

  One of Parnell's brows arched. "And will she say something to the contrary?"

  "It's always possible," he said. Walker's hand rose to the back of his head and his fingers gently touched the outline of the rising lump. "But I didn't do anything to earn this from her."

  Frowning, Parnell motioned Walker closer with the crook of his finger. He felt the knot when Walker bent over and whistled softly. "That's quite a goose egg."

  "You should be on this end of it," Walker said. He returned to the fireplace and hunkered down, putting another log on the meager flames. Straightening, he added, "In fact, you should be on this end of it."

  "What are you saying? That I was the intended victim?" His light-colored brows knit and his eyes grew introspective. "But who..." Parnell's features cleared. "You don't think that she..."

  "Who else?" he asked casually. Walker gave Parnell a moment to digest that, not pressing, then he made his points quietly. "The door to the room was locked. You know that yourself when you came upon it. Miss Dennehy and I were the only ones in there. If you believe I didn't clobber myself with a poker—or whatever the hell was used—then you have to believe she did." He smiled faintly, one corner of his mouth rising cynically. "Unless you believe in the Granville ghost."

  "Ridiculous."

  "Then..." Walker prompted.

  "Then she's the one who gave you that knot," Parnell said. "But to what purpose?"

  Walker shrugged. "To discredit me or get to you. Either would suit her. She has a key for most every room in this house, remember? A locked door doesn't pose much of an obstacle for her. If her aim had been truer she may have done it tonight." Now Walker went to the sideboard and poured himself two fingers of whiskey. He was close enough to the door that he could listen for Skye's approach. "Look, Mr. Parnell, I found her outside this evening poking around. This is the second night she's been up and about."

  "Second night? Why didn't you tell—"

  "Because I was handling it. That's what you're paying me to do. Did you really want to be distracted from your work?"

  "No, but—"

  Walker cut off his employer's objection. "When I caught her this evening I decided I couldn't let her out of my sight. I gave her a choice of her room or my own. She chose hers. I took the floor and she had her bed. After she fell asleep I went through her things. There's something you should see." Walker reached in his pocket and pulled out the shells from Parnell's Colt, along with a small notebook. He dropped the shells on the sideboard and gave Parnell the notebook. As his employer flipped through the pages, Walker explained, "You can see for yourself that it's mostly a list of things she wants to do. She's got her inventory of your possessions, notes about restoring s
ome of the rooms, suggestions for fabrics, colors, things like that." He watched Parnell stop thumbing through the pages and concentrate on the drawing in front of him. "Yes, I thought you might find that interesting. I did."

  "It looks like my room," Parnell said. "And hers."

  "It is. She's noted the dimensions, the furniture arrangements, the distance between the balconies. I wouldn't be surprised if she's memorized it all so she can walk through your room with her eyes closed. You're not safe with her here, Mr. Parnell."

  Shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a thin, thoughtful line, Parnell closed the book and handed it back to Walker. "She's a deceitful bitch, then." There was more disappointment in his tone than disgust. "I had hoped..." His voice trailed off wistfully and the focus of his eyes became distant and vague. "What do you think?"

  "Put her out. Let Hank take her to Baileyboro right now. She didn't succeed tonight, but she'll try again." Parnell hesitated. "I'm not sure I want—"

  "What's it going to take to convince you?" asked Walker. "You saw for yourself what—"

  Jonathan Parnell held up one hand. "What I saw was a very frightened young woman. I haven't heard what she has to say. Perhaps she clubbed you with a poker for very good reasons. You haven't explained why she was screaming. It was, after all, her screams that drew us to the room."

  "Who can say what goes through her mind, but I imagine it was something like this: she realized too late that I wasn't out cold—perhaps I twitched or groaned—but it was enough to make her think twice about coming after me again or risking going after you. Those screams were calculated to bring you running, and you were everything she could have hoped for. Your defense was gallant, and you considered pulling the trigger on me." Parnell looked as if he was still considering it, in spite of Walker's warning. "With me out of the way, you're a clear target. Get rid of her, Mr. Parnell. Neither you nor your invention is safe." His attention was distracted as he heard movement in the hallway and the muted tones of whispering voices. He pointed to the doors, announcing Skye's approach.

  Parnell nodded and his voice dropped accordingly. "You're making a good wage," he said. "Perhaps it's time you earned it."

  Walker's eyes narrowed. It wasn't what he expected to hear. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Parnell finished his drink and set the tumbler on the table beside him. He got up and began to go toward the parlor pocket doors. "It means she stays for now."

  "But-"

  "I have a pretty good idea who she's working for," he said. "I need to know if it's true."

  "Are you going to share a name with me?"

  Parnell shook his head. "Not this name," he said. "Do what you have to do with Miss Dennehy, but I'm not releasing her from her position. Is that clear?"

  Walker nodded. Parnell's refusal to speak a name made his implication clear. The person he suspected was very powerful.

  "Good," Parnell said, satisfied. "Let's hear what our would-be murderess has to say. After all, you insisted she join us."

  "Corina and Annie were there. They'd expect she'd have an opportunity to speak. I couldn't ignore that, but I wanted you to hear me out first."

  "And I did. Now, let's hear Miss Dennehy. It should be interesting, don't you think?" He slid open the doors and stepped aside.

  Skye's features were perfectly composed as she entered the room. Her face was pale and there was a faintly swollen edge to her eyelids, but those were the only indications that she was under any stress. She had changed into her deep purple day dress and fastened her hair at the nape with an amethyst barrette. A scrap of lace peeked out from under her right cuff. The handkerchief was her small concession to the state of her mind and her uneasiness over the impending interview.

  Skye waited to be offered a seat and when she was, chose the stiff wing chair and sat poised on the edge of it, her hands folded primly in her lap. She breathed slowly and evenly, willing herself to remain calm.

  Parnell indicated the sideboard. "A glass of sherry?"

  "No, thank you," she said. "Nothing for me." Skye kept her eyes on Parnell, studiously avoiding Walker's watchful gaze.

  Parnell returned to his chair. "You'll understand if I have some questions," he said.

  "Yes, of course."

  He nodded. "I anticipated you would breathe some life into this house," he told her, "but tonight's events were something else again. Naturally, I'm concerned by what's happened. Perhaps you should begin at the point where you invited Mr. Caide into your room."

  It was difficult not to look at Walker, but Skye managed it. "I did not invite him in. He gave me no choice about it."

  "He forced his way in?"

  She hesitated. "No, but it wasn't a choice just the same. He has it in his head that I mean you some sort of harm."

  "Do you?"

  "No!"

  "I see," Parnell said slowly. "And Mr. Caide has no reason to suppose that you might."

  This time her denial was not vehement. "No... that is, he thinks he has reason." Skye explained the situation to Parnell, using the same excuses for being out of her room that she had used with Walker. Parnell gave no indication whether he believed her. "And that's why Mr. Caide thought he had cause to be in my room."

  "And in your bed?" Parnell asked.

  His question made Skye feel tawdry. This time she did seek out Walker. She anticipated something in his face, in his manner, would tell her what she was supposed to say. There was nothing. Everything about him, his posture, the line of his mouth, the expression in his eyes, was carefully neutral. Her glance rested again on Parnell. "I don't know what happened in my room tonight," she said quietly. "Someone... something... was touching—"

  "Something?" asked Parnell. "What is that supposed to mean, Miss Dennehy?"

  Skye didn't have an acceptable answer for herself. What she was thinking she couldn't share. Unconsciously her eyes strayed to the portraits on the far wall.

  Parnell watched her. "You're not going to tell me it was the ghost, are you? I think Mr. Caide anticipated you might offer that reasoning."

  "I didn't say that." But she had been thinking it and both men knew she had. Her chin came up. "I suspect it was a nightmare and nothing more. It seemed very real. That's the only excuse I'm prepared to offer for my behavior."

  "A nightmare," he said.

  "Yes," she repeated firmly. She challenged him. "Am I dismissed, Mr. Parnell?"

  "Mr. Caide thinks I should dismiss you. What do you think, Miss Dennehy?"

  "I think it only matters what you think."

  "Just so." His head turned in Walker's direction. "You'd do well to remember that, too." He stood. "Do you want to leave, Miss Dennehy? I should think tonight's experience might send you packing of your own accord. No one would think less of you."

  It simply wasn't a consideration. No one thought much of her now. "One doesn't give up a position because of a bad dream, Mr. Parnell." Skye felt Parnell's thorough assessment as his dark blue eyes roamed over her. It was all she could do to sit still for it. The sensation was one of being physically touched, as if fingers were gliding over her face, her shoulders, along her arms. She knew he would find no evidence that she'd been hurt, nothing he could lay at Walker Caide's door. There was simply nothing to be found. But in spite of what she maintained in front of Parnell and Walker, Skye knew something had been done to her. It had not been a dream.

  * * *

  Upon being given her leave by Parnell, Skye headed for her room. She was almost to the top of the stairs when she heard the doors below her open and close again. Sensing Walker was going to follow her, Skye increased her pace. She wasn't quick enough to prevent him from shouldering his way through the door before she could close it.

  Skye immediately put space between herself and Walker. Her arms came across her middle. She hugged herself protectively. "What do you want?"

  "You."

  She flushed. Her eyes darted away, embarrassed by the frank look in his. "It wasn't a dream," she s
aid quietly. She hadn't known she was going to say the words until they were out.

  His features remained expressionless. "Come with me," he said. "You'll spend the rest of the night in my room."

  Skye's head came up. "No. I won't do that."

  "You don't have any choice. None."

  "Mr. Parnell didn't say—"

  "Mr. Parnell is allowing me to handle this." He stepped aside and indicated the door. "You can ask him if you wish. Now, before he returns to bed." When she didn't move immediately, he said, "Good. You know I'm telling you the truth." He pointed to her nightshift and her robe. "Collect your things and come with me." He picked up his blankets and pillow from the floor. "If you don't like it, you can always quit."

  "I can't afford to do that." It was true, she thought, but not in the way he would think. Skye would always count it as a failure if she left the Granville house now.

  He shrugged. "Then you'll have to learn to make the best of these circumstances."

  Skye picked up her nightgown. "Allow me to change here." She had a dressing room where she could have some privacy. Walker's room had none.

  Walker merely pointed toward the door.

  Skye's mouth flattened. She yanked her robe off the back of a chair, picked up a few items from her vanity, and all but marched out of the room. "I haven't done anything to warrant this treatment," she said.

  "I'm making certain it remains that way."

  "You're treating me like a criminal."

  "Consider yourself fortunate, then," he said. "I've a mind to treat you like a whore."