Summons From a Stranger

by Diaz, Debra

  “But—but this house—“

  “This house should belong to Jonathan and his brother. Think, Lindsey! How would you feel if someone got thrown out of their home because of you?”

  “Oh.” Lindsey was beginning to see things from Rachel’s point of view. But, all that money! But no, Rachel was right. Mr. Laramore had a twisted mind; obviously he had some grudge against both his grandsons and wanted to use Rachel to hurt them.

  “Well, maybe he could divide it among the three of you.”

  “That’s not what this is about. He wants to punish Jonathan and Alan for something. He’s a bitter old man who knows he’s dying and he’s plotting how he’s going to show everybody—oh, I don’t know! I just know that I won’t—”

  They both looked down at the same time and saw Jonathan Laramore come out of the room at the bottom of the stairs. Lights had finally been turned on all over the house, and the chandelier in the entry hall cast its beam fully on his face. He had taken off his jacket, and the white shirt contrasted sharply with his black hair and lightly tanned skin. He was looking up at them, and some expression crossed his face that made Lindsey think that he suddenly, inexplicably, knew what his grandfather had done. But that was absurd. He couldn’t possibly have heard them, he couldn’t possibly know.

  Honey dashed from behind him and bounded up the stairs. Lindsey and Rachel got to their feet and descended the long staircase. When they reached the bottom, Rachel looked at Jonathan and said, “We didn’t finish talking. He became tired. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and talk to the attorney when he comes. He’s supposed to be on his way.”

  “I see.” Again there was a brief flash of realization in his eyes, as if he guessed the truth.

  Afraid he was going to ask questions, Lindsey tried to think of something to say. “Oh, Mr. Laramore, your grandfather said to tell you something. What was it, Rachel?”

  Rachel turned her head so Jonathan couldn’t see and frowned at her.

  “Oh, yeah! He wants to give her a painting. He said you’d know which one.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t—” Jonathan began, and then stopped. He looked at Rachel and smiled a little. “I believe I know what he meant. And I agree. No one but you should have it. Will you follow me?”

  He was once again the polite host. They followed him past several rooms to a narrow stairway that ran up the west end of the house. Rachel had made a mild protest, which he had tactfully overruled, and now he led the way up the stairs to the third floor. He switched on lights as they went down still another hallway, this one rather cramped and bare of any furnishings.

  “These are mostly storage rooms,” Jonathan said, and stopped. “And this is the door to the attic.”

  They stood facing a tall, wooden door. Jonathan reached into his pocket, withdrew a ring of keys, and selected one. At his heels, Honey sniffed under the door and sneezed. The door opened with a loud screech, and another set of steps stretched before them.

  “You can stay here if you like—it’s musty up there.”

  “I want to go,” Lindsey said, ignoring the look Rachel gave her, and scrambled after him.

  They emerged onto a vast expanse of wood plank flooring. Jonathan pulled a chain on a light bulb that swung nearby, and illuminated a small portion of the room. It was filled with old furniture, crates, cardboard boxes—some closed, some open and packed full of items—and other large objects hidden beneath dingy-looking covers. A thump followed by a skittering noise in one of the dark corners sent Lindsey closer to the light, and Jonathan.

  “Mice,” he said, as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. He began looking under dust covers. “It’s one of these—this one I think.”

  She watched as he took a closer look at one of the objects. It was large, about two and a half feet wide and three feet long. He took the cover off, but because of the way he held it, she could only tell that it was an ornate, wooden picture frame.

  “Would you hold the door open, Lindsey?” he asked, glancing at her, and she hurried to comply. “Don’t rush—be careful on those steps.”

  They entered the hallway where Rachel waited; she gave Lindsey a reproving look, probably for even mentioning the painting. She’d no doubt gotten in her head that she wanted nothing from the Laramores.

  Without saying anything, Jonathan turned the frame, set it down against the wall, and stepped back. Rachel put her hand to her throat and gasped.

  Lindsey had the eerie sensation of looking at Rachel had she lived some fifty years before. The woman in the painting wore a loose, flowing dress. Her short, auburn hair was puffed a little in the style of the day, but much like Rachel’s; she had eyes the same shade of green, which even then had been filled with a stark melancholy. Her lips were thinner, but softly curved in what was almost a smile.

  Rachel said at last, “I don’t know what to say.”

  Jonathan leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I never knew her,” he said quietly. “I knew about her, of course. My mother told me. I used to come up here and look at her portrait when I was a kid. I was fascinated by it. Of course, I wasn’t told any of the details about her then—just that she and Grandfather were no longer together.”

  “I’m grateful that your grandfather wants me to have it. Thank you.”

  “As I said, no one has more of a right to it than you do.”

  He looked at her and she looked back at him. And all of a sudden Lindsey knew what it meant when it was said that people had “chemistry”, for they had it, and it was highly combustible.

  She just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Jonathan was nice, and he obviously liked dogs, which was a big point in his favor—but there was some mystery about him that made her uneasy. Something about Philip’s death, something that made him “strange”, in his grandfather’s words. Not to mention that he was engaged to a woman probably not accustomed to being jilted.

  Jonathan was the first to shake off the spell. He picked up the portrait in its heavy frame and headed down the corridor. “I’ll take it downstairs so it will be there when you’re ready to leave. I’ll find something clean to cover it with.”

  Once again, Rachel and Lindsey followed him along the passageway and down the narrow stairs. This time he stopped at the second floor and went along the corridors to the grand staircase. They’d no sooner reached the bottom than the front door was thrown open and a flurry of people, umbrellas and suitcases filled the foyer. Someone slammed the door shut.

  There were two women and a man. The man looked a little like Jonathan, but was shorter and heavier. One of the women was tall and dark-haired; the other was blonde and petite. They all stared at Rachel. Jonathan had just set the portrait down against the wall. He turned toward the visitors.

  They looked at Jonathan, at the portrait, and at Rachel again.

  The blonde woman said, in a nasal tone, “Why does that woman look just like Ellen Laramore?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Honey growled and pressed close against Lindsey’s ankles. Lindsey stooped down and picked her up, not taking her eyes off the new arrivals. Rachel stood frozen, obviously unable to think of anything to say. Jonathan took over smoothly, but there was something in his voice—almost like smothered laughter.

  “Her name is Rachel Evans, and this is her friend, Lindsey Sims. Ladies, this is my mother, Isabella Laramore.”

  Mrs. Laramore put out her hand, looking slightly bewildered. Her luxuriant black hair was streaked with silver. She wore it shoulder-length and parted on the side.

  “And this is my brother Alan, and his wife, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte was just a couple of pounds away from being plump; her blonde hair was frizzy, as though it had been overly processed—a possibility, since Lindsey could see dark roots at her scalp. Alan Laramore, though, looked less like Jonathan than she’d thought at first glance. He had reddened hazel eyes, a sagging jaw line, and his face was puffy. He looked older than his half-brother, though he was the younger one.
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  Both Alan and his wife were fairly dripping with gold jewelry—chains, bracelets, and rings. Charlotte wore gold earrings shaped like triangles.

  “You didn’t explain—” Alan began, and stopped. “She’s kin to Ellen.”

  Rachel found her voice. “Yes. I’m Ellen’s granddaughter. I’m pleased to meet all of you.”

  There was a short silence, and they might as well have said, Well, we’re not pleased to meet you. They must have been wondering why she was there; Lindsey was sure that in a moment one of them would ask.

  There was movement behind them, and Brianna came out of a room down the hall, followed by Monsieur Barrey. “Alan and Charlotte! How lovely. And Isabella, too. I’d like you to meet my tutor, Gerard.”

  “Oh—what kind of lessons is it this time, Brianna?” Charlotte asked sarcastically. It was obvious to Lindsey that the two women were not on excellent terms.

  “French,” Brianna answered smoothly.

  Isabella spoke. “I hope this isn’t inconvenient, Jon. We heard Miles was worse, so we thought we’d better come.”

  “I know why you’re here,” Jonathan said. His mother’s face reddened.

  “It’s the maid’s day off,” Brianna said cheerily. “But don’t worry, we’ll make do.”

  “Rachel, Lindsey, perhaps you’d rather wait in the living room,” Jonathan said, hefting two of the suitcases while his brother did the same. “Brianna, why don’t you see to them?”

  “Of course.”

  Isabella and Charlotte followed the two men up the stairs. Barlow appeared, stuck the discarded, wet umbrellas in the stand by the antique coat rack, and picked up the remaining suitcase.

  Brianna led the way into the room they’d entered when they first arrived. “Can I have Barlow get you anything? Something to drink?”

  Rachel hesitated. Lindsey said, “I could sure use a glass of water. Or a coke. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “And you, Miss Evans?”

  “Water would be fine, thank you.”

  Lindsey eyed her dog, who had sat down and was staring at her with bright black eyes. “I probably need to put her out—”

  Standing in the doorway, Brianna lifted an exquisitely long arm and pointed down a hallway that ran past the stairs. “The back door would be best—it’s down there.”

  “Thanks.” Lindsey watched as Brianna and her tutor promptly disappeared again.

  Rachel sat down and kicked off her shoes. “I’m so tired. I feel as though I’ve been away from home for a year.”

  “I hope that lawyer will hurry up,” Lindsey said. “Although I’m surprised he’d come all the way out here in the rain.”

  “Mr. Laramore could die anytime,” Rachel answered, in a low voice. “I’m sure the lawyer feels he should come whenever he’s called. Go ahead and let Honey out—she’ll come right back, won’t she?”

  “She always does.”

  Lindsey picked up the dog and carried her to the back of the house, where a glass-enclosed porch opened to the outdoors. An awning stretched over the doorway and quite a distance over the lawn, so that Honey could attend to her business without getting wet, but she immediately streaked away into the downpour.

  “Honey!” cried Lindsey, exasperated.

  A boom of thunder made her jump. Water rolled in sheets across the glass. Lindsey opened the door again to try to see, and heard a shrill yelping from far away. Honey never yelped unless she hurt herself, and without a moment’s hesitation Lindsey ran out into the storm.

  It was like entering another world. There was still enough light to see, but just barely. In a matter of seconds Lindsey had been soaked to the skin. Vivid green bushes and branches snatched at her as she stumbled through grass and mud, the wind almost taking her breath away. She tried to follow the sound of Honey’s yelping.

  “Honey, where are you?”

  She peered through the wall of rain and saw that she stood precariously at the top of a small hill. Directly below her, the swollen creek they’d passed over on the way swirled furiously, almost overflowing its banks. Her feet began to slip; for one horrible moment she thought she was going to end up in the creek and be carried away to certain doom.

  A hand clamped down on her arm and she grabbed it with her other hand, whirling around. It was Jonathan.

  “It’s not safe out here!” he shouted, over the rain. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for my dog! I think something’s happened to her!”

  He stood listening, and seemed to hear the faint yelping. “Go back to the house,” he said over his shoulder, and disappeared. Lindsey looked around and couldn’t figure out which way the house was—besides, it was her dog they were looking for. She hurried after Jonathan.

  She found him, sooner than she’d anticipated. She ran into him headlong, and she might as well have run into a tree trunk. He must work out a lot. She staggered back, trying to wipe her hair out of her eyes. Again he took her arm in a powerful grip and guided her into what proved to be a small outbuilding. Gardening tools hung from the walls.

  “Stay here,” he said, and disappeared again.

  Lindsey stood still for a moment, gasping for breath. Water trickled onto the concrete floor from her saturated clothes. Then it seemed that a long time passed, and she couldn’t stand still any longer. She went back out into the rain, trying to hear Honey yelp or bark, trying to hear anything at all. She saw a form coming toward her, and heard Jonathan say, “Lindsey, get away from that tree! Get down—”

  An explosion filled her ears. Just yards in front of her, a ball of fire erupted and the small tree split in half before her eyes. Bark actually flew off and pelted her. Lindsey screamed. Her hair seemed to lift from her head and she tingled all over. Then Jonathan was pushing her into the building, with Honey tucked in one arm, and he slammed the door shut.

  He was breathing hard. His face had gone white; his eyes were dark and filled with some intense emotion. She thought he must be angry about having to chase after Honey. She waited a moment to catch her breath, and said shakily, “I guess that was too close for comfort.”

  “Just don’t touch anything,” he answered. “We’re not really safe in here, either.”

  “I’m sorry about my dog,” she said contritely. “I shouldn’t have brought her.”

  He shook his head, not speaking. His black hair was plastered to his head and his white shirt had soaked through to the skin. She reached up and took Honey, who was squirming and looked like a drowned rat.

  He straightened as she did so, and pushed his hair away from his face. He stared out the window for a moment. At last he said, “You don’t have to apologize about the dog. I don’t think she’s hurt—she’d caught her foot under a root and couldn’t get loose.”

  Lindsey examined Honey’s paws, but watched him surreptitiously. He ran his hand across his eyes. Then suddenly he became himself again; color came back into his face and he turned to look at her. “We’ll have to wait it out,” he said. “Maybe it won’t be long.”

  They stood and watched from the large window—not too close to it—as the storm played out before them. Tree limbs and vibrant green branches swirled and snapped in the wind, flinging themselves against the side of the shed. Rain and thunder crashed against it, making the whole building quake with vibrations. They didn’t talk—they wouldn’t have been able to hear each other.

  Maybe the lightning had scared him silly. It had certainly scared her—she was still shaking. It was just that he didn’t seem the type to react that way. Of course, she didn’t really know him at all, when it came right down to it. But something weird had happened to him, for just a moment…

  Gradually the thunder died away. Jonathan said, “We’d better go in. The worst is over and it’s not going to stop raining anytime soon.”

  They ran lightly through the rain, their shoes squishing with every step. It was dark now, but enough light shone out through the windows of the house to guide their way. When they approached the mudd
y hill that descended toward the creek, Jonathan reached out and took her hand. “Careful,” he said, giving her a gentle pull.

  Suddenly a figure was running toward them and they heard Rachel calling, “Lindsey! Lindsey, where are you?”

  Rachel’s skirt and blouse were soaked and she was barefoot. Lindsey was just about to answer when Rachel topped the little incline and ran smack into Jonathan, just as Lindsey had done earlier.

  The difference was that Rachel was taller; he caught and held her and she lifted her head just as he lowered his. It was the perfect pose for one of those Hollywood, John Wayne-Maureen O’Hara kisses (like that clip in the movie, ET). Lindsey clutched Honey and held her breath.

  Of course, he didn’t kiss her. That would have been most inappropriate, considering he had a fiancée inside the house, who might even then be peering out the window. But the rain poured down on them for several seconds before Jonathan placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed back from her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Rachel seemed to come to her senses. “I—yes, of course. Where’s Lindsey?”

  “She’s right here. Let’s get out of this rain.”

  He took her arm, then reached back and grabbed Lindsey’s hand again. They made it to the house, where he held the door open and waited for them to enter.

  Lindsey felt a wave of cold air from the cooling system. Jonathan pushed a button and spoke into an intercom. “Reba, we need towels on the north side, please. Lots of them.”

  He seemed to avoid looking at Rachel. He and Lindsey sat down on the wicker furniture and removed their shoes. Rachel remained standing, hugging herself, rubbing one leg against the other in an effort to get warm. Jonathan glanced impatiently down the hall.

  A woman appeared almost instantly, carrying a thick stack of towels. She was exceptionally tall, with broad, high-boned features. She could have been anywhere from fifty to sixty-five or more years of age. Her silver hair was cut extremely short, accentuating her prominent cheekbones.