Sound of Fear

by Marta Perry

  “You bet. But about the break-in at your house. You were at work when it happened?” Concentrate on the case, he ordered himself. Not on how appealing Amanda looks in tights and an oversize sweatshirt with her hair loose on her shoulders.

  “That’s right. Well, I don’t know exactly when it did happen, but when I got home, Barney greeted me in triumph.”

  “Did anything else happen that day? Anyone hanging around?”

  She made an exasperated sound. “The only person hanging around was Bertie.”

  “Bertie?” He sounded at sea because he was. “Who is Bertie?”

  “My mother’s agent, Bertram Berkley.”

  “Seriously? That’s really his name?”

  She grinned. “I’ve always assumed his real name was something considerably less artsy, like George Potts.” She shook her head, the smile vanishing, and concentrated on stirring the cocoa in the heavy white mug before she sat down across from him. “The thing is...”

  She paused long enough to take a sip that left her with a foamy white mustache, and he felt a nearly irresistible urge to wipe it away with his finger.

  “The thing is that whatever he did for my mother, and to hear him tell it, you’d think he created her, he’s been a pest since she died. He actually wormed my whereabouts out of Robert and showed up here.”

  “Here at the cottage?” His ears perked up at that. Someone else in the picture? “What exactly did he want?”

  Amanda frowned a little. “The same thing. He thinks we should do a retrospective show of my mother’s work, the sooner the better. I understand, I guess. It’s his job to do the best he can to earn his fifteen percent, but I’m just not ready.”

  “No one can blame you for that. It’s obviously too soon.” He took a gulp of chocolate, rich and sweet.

  She nodded. “I told him so in Boston. He was waiting for me outside the house when I came home that day. It was the first day I’d been back at work since my mother’s death.”

  Was that important? If someone had been watching the house, they’d have waited until it was empty to strike.

  “He actually wanted to come in and inventory the paintings that were in the house so he could include them. If I’d let him, he’d have been with me when I discovered the break-in.”

  “I take it you refused to discuss it.”

  “Right.” She sipped at the cocoa. “Insensitive isn’t a strong enough word for him. So he followed me here to renew his plea. He even tried to persuade me to cooperate by saying that my uncle was all for it, as if George Curtiss had anything to do with my mother’s work.”

  “Wait a minute.” He put his hand over hers. “He’d been talking to your uncle? The one you said had been sniffing around? The one Robert distrusted?”

  “That’s right.” She rubbed her forehead as if a headache was building. “It is odd. I can’t imagine how they know each other, but I told Bertie in no uncertain terms that if he discussed my business with anyone else, I’d find another agent. Do you think he had something to do with this? But how could he?”

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But I trust Robert McKinley’s judgment about people. If this Berkley thought there’d be something to gain by siding with George Curtiss in any battle over the estate... Well, how would he react?”

  “Juliet never had any illusions about Bertie. She said he’d sell his grandmother if the payoff was big enough.” She cupped her hands around the mug, as if seeking warmth.

  “I’m surprised she let him represent her if she felt that way.”

  “Oh, he was good at his job. And my mother always kept the reins in her own hands.”

  “But the bottom line is, he’s someone who has a stake in what happens to you.”

  Amanda seemed reluctant to admit something that seemed so obvious to him. “I guess so. But if you’re thinking that was him out in the woods tonight, believe me, that’s impossible. Bertie in the dark woods alone? Never. Wear denim?” She touched the scrap of fabric that lay on the table. “Also never.” Her gaze met his squarely. “Why are you avoiding the obvious?”

  “I’m not,” he protested. “But the introduction of someone I never even heard of into the tangle bears investigating. No, it’s far more likely that if it wasn’t, as Amos said, some possum hunter out to liven up his night or a couple of teenagers looking for early Halloween fun, then it was someone involved with the Winthrop family.”

  “They’d love for me go away so they can forget all about Melanie Winthrop. Still, I can’t see Elizabeth or Betty or even Donald Shay lurking in the woods. The other two...”

  “Yes.” He considered. “Either of them would be capable of it. Carlie’s ex-boyfriend certainly would be. Did he wear black denim jeans when you saw him?”

  She shrugged. “Some sort of black pants. I wasn’t that interested in his attire at that point.”

  “No, I see that. But short of catching one of them with a hole in his pants, I can’t see how we’ll prove it.”

  “That’s why I didn’t call the police,” she said. “Well, one of the reasons. I didn’t want to alarm Sarah’s family or make myself look foolish for calling the police out here for what they’d think was nothing.”

  “They’d at least scare the intruder away.” He took her hand in a firm grasp. “If you’re frightened, you shouldn’t hesitate to call.”

  “I wasn’t frightened.” The denial was immediate, but then the corners of her lips curled. “Well, not much. I had Barney here, and I was locked in. And...I knew you were coming.”

  “As fast as I could.” Their gazes locked, and her eyes seemed to darken.

  “Amanda...” He wanted so much to kiss her, to hold her...

  But it had better be at the door, because if they started something now, he wasn’t sure he’d leave. And he had to.

  He drained his mug. Taking her hand, he stood, moving toward the door with her. “I’m sure whoever did it is far away by now. Too bad Barney didn’t bring back a good bite of him as well as his jeans.”

  “We can hope. Seriously, if Barney scented him again, I think he’d react.”

  He probably would. As Amos had said, Barney was a good watchdog. “Well, anyway, be careful.”

  “You needn’t worry about that.” Her voice was tart. Did she understand why he was walking away? “Would it surprise you to learn that my mother insisted I take karate lessons?”

  “Just don’t aim any kicks at me.” He paused at the door, taking the risk of looking into her eyes. “Sounds as if she was a strong woman. And she raised a strong daughter.”

  Amanda pressed her lips together, her eyes misting. “I just hope I’m doing what she would want.”

  He touched her cheek lightly, feeling her skin warm under his hand. “As long as you’re doing what you feel is right, I suspect she’d be satisfied. Call me in the morning, okay?”

  “I will.”

  One kiss, he told himself, and claimed her lips, sliding his arms around her. Even that light caress ricocheted through him like an electric shock.

  After a long moment, he drew away. Reluctantly. “Good night. Stay safe.”

  * * *

  AMANDA CARRIED HER second cup of coffee into the living room the next morning. It was still early, but Sarah had been there and gone already, concerned for her and repeating her husband’s offer that Amanda move to the farmhouse.

  She’d said no, of course, preferring to be on her own, but she was touched nonetheless. If other people in town were automatically siding with the Winthrops against her, at least Sarah and Amos had no qualms about welcoming her.

  That brought her thoughts right back around to Trey. She didn’t consider herself very intuitive, except where animals were concerned, but she’d been able to sense Trey’s mixed feelings about his part in her troubles. That hadn�
��t stopped him from responding to her, at least. She put her fingers to her lips, smiling.

  A relationship between them couldn’t go anywhere, she reminded herself. Still, she couldn’t help enjoying the feeling, however long it lasted. Trey had made her feel like a desirable woman again, after the emotional battering she’d taken from Rick’s defection.

  When Trey called, his voice had been strictly business. He’d probably been reminding himself, too, that this wouldn’t work. But he had warmed when he’d suggested they have dinner tonight. To discuss the situation, he added quickly. And she’d agreed. To discuss the situation.

  She was still sitting in the corner of the sofa, smiling, when the phone rang again. She didn’t recognize the number, but it appeared to be local.

  It was. It was Helen Lindstrom, Elizabeth Winthrop’s housekeeper, of all people.

  “I’m calling for Mrs. Winthrop. She’d like to see you sometime today. Will you come?”

  Amanda tried to suppress a flare of hope. “Yes, of course. When?”

  “This morning is best, miss. She usually sleeps in the afternoon.” She paused. “And the rest of the family is out this morning.”

  “I see.” She did see. Elizabeth wanted to talk with her without being hampered by anyone else’s presence. “My attorney...” she began.

  “Just you,” the woman said. “That’s what Mrs. Winthrop said. She wants to talk to you alone.”

  Not allowing herself to think about Trey’s probable response, Amanda answered, “That’s fine.” She glanced at the clock, mentally giving herself time to change clothes and drive there. “Shall we say about ten thirty?”

  “That’s fine, miss. The gate will be open for you.” The woman clicked off with no wasted words. Given the friendliness she’d shown the previous day, Amanda suspected she was making the call in Elizabeth Winthrop’s hearing.

  This was unexpected. Still, Trey had predicted Elizabeth might reconsider once she’d gotten used to the idea. She started to call Trey to tell him, but then decided against it. He might argue against her going alone, and she wanted to do this. So she’d tell him afterward.

  Amanda regretted that decision only momentarily as she walked toward the massive front doors at the Winthrop house. It would be nice to have some backup. But if Elizabeth wanted to talk to her privately, that might be a positive step. She couldn’t pass up that possibility.

  Mrs. Lindstrom answered the door almost before Amanda’s knock, as if she’d been watching for her.

  “Come in, come in.” She peered out, as if checking to be sure Amanda was alone. “This way. Mrs. Winthrop is in the sunroom.”

  Mrs. Lindstrom led the way through the foyer and a back hall, where Amanda caught a glimpse of the kitchen. She ushered Amanda into a large, glassed-in room that had obviously been built onto the back of the house. The windows looked out on flower beds, still showing some autumn color in mums and asters, and a swath of lawn dotted with large old trees.

  A harsh voice called her attention to the inside of the room.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Come and sit down.” Mrs. Winthrop was enthroned in a padded wicker chair with a high back, and she gestured to a similar, but smaller, chair next to her.

  Before Amanda could move, Mrs. Winthrop had turned on the housekeeper. “We don’t need a chaperone. Go and fix the tea.”

  Mrs. Lindstrom didn’t seem impressed by the bark. She glanced at Amanda. “Try not to let her get too excited.”

  Amanda nodded, but how on earth she could prevent anything the formidable old lady took it into her head to do, she didn’t know.

  As soon as the housekeeper had left the room, Mrs. Winthrop switched her focus to Amanda. Sitting upright, her hands clenching the top of the cane, she studied her. Looking for a resemblance, maybe?

  “Well, why don’t you say anything?”

  Amanda blinked. “You asked me to come. I assumed that meant you had something to say to me.”

  She glared for a moment. “I’ll say this for you. You’re not afraid of me. Not like that fool daughter of mine.” She paused, seeming to look past Amanda. “Melanie wasn’t, either. You think that makes you Melanie’s daughter?”

  “No. Only a DNA test will prove or disprove that.” Keeping this brief and businesslike seemed best.

  “You must have at least half believed it to bother coming here.”

  The woman’s shrewdness surprised Amanda. “Yes, I suppose I did,” she said slowly. “But that may have been mostly wishful thinking.”

  Mrs. Winthrop nodded slowly. “I guess I can understand that. When did your mother die?”

  The words still had the power to stir her grief. “A little over a month ago.”

  There were no meaningless expressions of sympathy from Elizabeth. “Takes longer than that,” she muttered.

  Amanda understood. It did indeed take longer than that just to get used to the fact, let alone accept it.

  “That was our Melanie.” The woman thrust a framed photograph at her, and Amanda took it in both hands.

  This wasn’t the stilted studio portrait that had been shown in the newspaper. The girl in this one, wearing riding pants and boots, leaned against a bay horse she’d guess was a Thoroughbred. The girl’s head was tilted back, so that the fragile line of her throat showed and her light brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. The photographer had caught her laughing, and she looked very young and indescribably vulnerable.

  Amanda touched the pictured face lightly, her throat tight. Suddenly she felt that sense of kinship she’d been looking for. Or was it just pity, for a young life cut short too early?

  After a long moment she handed the photograph back. “She was...very lovely.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Winthrop put it on her lap, looking down at it. “Sweet, smart, talented. Like my son. She could have done anything, been anything. And then she had to fall for some boy and ruin her life.” Her voice hardened on the last words, as if she couldn’t forgive.

  Some boy...possibly the father Amanda had never known. “Did you ever find out who he was?”

  “No. She could keep a secret when she wanted to. Which means he was someone completely unsuitable.” Her anger against the man throbbed in her voice, and her breathing seemed to rasp.

  Mrs. Lindstrom arrived with a tea tray, creating a break that was probably a good thing if she didn’t want Mrs. Winthrop to become upset. Maybe she’d done that deliberately, waiting for a moment when an interruption would do the most good.

  The process of pouring tea, offering sugar and cream, serving what were obviously freshly baked scones, provided time for Mrs. Winthrop’s color to fade to normal. Relieved, Amanda breathed easier herself. She didn’t want to be accused of driving the woman into a stroke.

  “She treated you well, your adoptive mother. Donald tells me your address is in a good part of Boston.”

  Amanda assumed that was a question. “Juliet always behaved as if I were her own daughter. We were very close.”

  “Not close enough for her to tell you that you were adopted.”

  The comment stung, and Amanda stiffened. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell me, but it wasn’t from lack of love.”

  “If you were so happy, why are you bothering to find your birth mother?”

  It almost sounded as if she were trying to make Amanda doubt herself. Well, it wouldn’t work.

  “I think anyone would want to know where they came from in a situation like this.” She spoke carefully, not sure she wanted to have the Winthrop family guessing about the possibility of a legal battle over Juliet’s will.

  Still, she suspected Mrs. Winthrop might be more willing to cooperate if she could be convinced that all Amanda wanted was information. “For legal reasons, my attorney needs to have the adoption records to go to probate with the will. Knowi
ng anything about where I came from could help.”

  Mrs. Winthrop seemed to be studying the tea in the fragile china cup she held. Finally, she looked up, her face withdrawn. “I don’t see what I can tell you. Even if you were my granddaughter’s child, I heard nothing from her after she left. I can’t help you.”

  In other words, she was slamming the door on Amanda and her annoying questions. Amanda decided to give up the pretense that this was a friendly tea party.

  “You must know the location of the facility you sent her to.” If her disapproval of that treatment showed in her voice, that was too bad.

  There was a long silence while Mrs. Winthrop decided whether or not she was going to answer. Then she gave a short nod. “It was a perfectly reputable institution in Worcester, Massachusetts. There was nothing shoddy about it. The girls who went there had the best of care. They were able to continue their educations...”

  “And then their babies were taken away and given to someone else,” Amanda, tired of what she saw as rationalization, finished for her.

  The woman rapped her cane on the parquet floor. “Don’t you presume to lecture me, young woman. My granddaughter was only seventeen. She was no more ready to be a mother than a kitten is. I saved her from throwing her life away.”

  She stopped, her face working, hands gripping the cane as if she’d like to strike out at Amanda.

  Well, she’d blown it, Amanda knew. The Winthrop family would never agree to the DNA testing now. When was she going to learn to use some tact?

  She stood. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mrs. Winthrop. I’ll go now.”

  She’d reached the door before the rasping voice stopped her. “I don’t regret anything I’ve done. Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly.” Amanda reached for the door handle.

  “There’s no point in you expecting anything from me, because you won’t get it. But I’ll consent to your DNA test. You can tell Trey Alter to set it up. Goodbye.”