by Sylvie Kurtz
“Rita—”
“No, you have to…promise.” She hacked, the fluid in her lungs giving her voice a wet, strangled sound. “Valentina has to…stay.”
Nick shook his head. “I can’t allow—”
Face set, Rita turned to Holly. “You can cancel…that call to Dr. Marzan. I refuse…to see him.”
“Your health is—”
“It’s my mind…my heart that need…healing.”
Rita’s body curved to catch the blow of another round of coughing. Holly sat beside her, supporting her.
“I won’t let you do this to yourself.” Nick balled his fists at his sides. “I’ll call an ambulance and force you to get care.”
“You’re my only link…to Valentina, Nicolas. I would hate to…lose you. But if you can’t support me…” Silent tears twisted down her flame-red cheeks. “Then you’d better…pack your bags…because I never want…to see you again.”
Holly sucked in a breath as she held the coughing Rita. “You don’t mean that, Rita.”
“I do. I want…Valentina home.”
“She’s not Valentina,” Nick said between gritted teeth. Seeing Rita so sick, so delusional from her fever, tore him to pieces.
“Nicky, just do it,” Holly pleaded, her eyes filled with the kind of fear he hadn’t seen there in a long time. “Just do as she says. What harm can there be? She needs care, and she needs it now. Give her something to fight for.”
Every fiber of his being screamed at him to put an end to this farce. Kick the pseudo-Valentina and the paranormal quack out the door and let life return to normal. But once Rita made up her mind, there was no changing it. And if she lost her will to live, this illness could kill her.
There was no winning. Letting the headline hunters exploit the family’s privacy was a crime. But so was killing Rita’s hope when she’d given him and his mother so much.
Nick nodded once. For now, he’d give in. When Rita’s fever broke, she’d see she’d made a mistake. “I can invite her, but I can’t force her to stay.”
Rita attempted to squeeze his hand, but her grip was nothing more than a flutter against his palm. “Convince her, Nicolas.”
“ARE YOU COMPLETELY LOONY?” Valerie asked, one arm crossed over the portfolio she held close to her chest, her free hand clutching her half-filled cup of coffee.
As Mike was finishing up loading his camera in the trunk, Nick had caught her and hauled her back inside. They were now standing in the foyer, their voices rebounding off the ceiling as if they stood in an echo chamber, adding a macabre note to their insane exchange. His crazy proposal hammered against everything she believed in.
“Trust me,” he said. “I’d just as soon run you out of town as invite you into our home.”
“I can’t lie.”
“Not even for your story?”
She hesitated. “I have other avenues for research.”
“But none so complete and accurate.”
He had a point. Rita had information from her dealings with the police and private investigators that Valerie could never get her hands on in the time she had to put the package together. Her promotion depended on her doing not just a good job, but a great job with this project. A project that would bear extra scrutiny because of the station owner’s personal interest.
Then there was the time issue. With Rita sick, an interview with her was out of the question.
Which didn’t leave her with many options.
To complete her assignment, she’d have to compromise her previously impeccable ethics. What did that say about her? About the depth of her ambition? Was that the first step to fabricating news?
Nick scoffed. “Think of it as immersion into your role.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t pretend I’m Valentina. I wouldn’t know how. It’s not right. And you, of all people, shouldn’t be asking this of me.”
He stepped closer, his eyes blazing down at her. His presence pulsated along her skin, making her wish she’d put on the V-neck cashmere sweater she’d gotten on clearance under her blazer. He could cut through too many layers with that look, and she didn’t like the way she wanted to swat him as a kid would and say, Stop it, Nick. That’s not funny.
“Not even to help a sick woman recover? Your employer’s niece?” His voice slid seductively into her brain matter, making the walls of the foyer waver once again. “What’s a few days when you could have such easy access to your target?”
“Interview.” She readjusted her grip on her portfolio, sliding it up to shield her throat. “I don’t know why you keep insisting I’m trying to swindle Ms. Meadows out of anything.”
His hands reached for her shoulders. Their possessive weight burned right through her blazer, blouse and camisole and down to her skin. “Val…”
The abbreviation of her name, spoken so softly, seemed to pluck at something deep and faraway, something so familiar that it made her heart ache and her throat close up.
“Rita is sick,” he said. “She needs a reason to fight for her health. These past few years have been especially hard on her.” For an instant his eyes showed the truth of his words and his worry softened the hard lines of his face. Just as fast, the iron gates of his control fell back into place, closing off her glimpse into his soul. “You want your story?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
“Then make up your mind. Now.”
She didn’t want to, but she yielded. She had no choice. Not if she was going to complete her assignment successfully.
“I’ll stay,” she said, unwilling to capitulate completely, “but only if you agree to allow me to interview you in Rita’s place.”
Before Nick could reply, a long scream rent the air. He took off up the stairs. Propelled by curiosity, Valerie followed, cementing her deal with the devil. For the story, she’d play Valentina.
In a small office in shades of cream and gray, the woman with the braid stood behind a nineteenth-century English writing table. Both of her trembling hands covered her mouth, squashing down further screams that might disturb Rita. Her brown eyes, wide and petrified, stared at something hidden behind the raised cover of a laptop.
Cautiously, Valerie moved to get a better view. Nick reached down to the keyboard and, with the tip of a pencil, picked up the gold chain snaked across the keys. The gold hissed like a cobra as it rose and an oval cameo dangled from its end. The profile, etched on moonstone, was that of a little girl.
As the edge of the cameo whispered across the touch pad, the screen came to life. In seventy-point font, red letters proclaimed, “I know where she is.”
Chapter Five
Valentina’s face dangled from the cameo like a hypnotist’s focus point. The milky profile spinning on its chain unwound the years. Nick longed to grasp the moonstone and fist it in his hand. Would it still heat his palm?
Valentina. His heart wrenched just looking at the stone. A birthday present from her father carved by a local artist. Her pixie profile caught in all its mischief and sunshine.
It itches, she’d said and discarded the expensive bauble along with her party dress, fancy shoes and ribbons and slipped into flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks.
He closed his eyes against the memory. Don’t think.
Where had this necklace come from? Who’d had access to Rita’s office? Who’d had the gall to write such a button-pushing note?
Thank God Rita hadn’t found it.
I know where she is. Those simple words would have Rita demanding he turn the earth inside out. As if he hadn’t already done it a dozen times.
He wasn’t a big believer in coincidence, either. What were the chances that something like this would happen when three strangers were running around the mansion? You didn’t have to be a whiz at probs and stats to know they were off the charts and that the culprit was probably in the house.
He’d fought so hard to keep Rita safe, but the crazies had still found a way in.
Aware of his audience, he open
ed his eyes again, control back in place. He doubted whoever had planted the necklace on Rita’s computer had bothered to leave fingerprints behind, but he couldn’t take a chance. With a look to Holly, he silently asked if she was all right.
She hitched in a breath, nodded and said, “I’ll call the detective.”
“Make sure the photographer and the professor stick around.”
She nodded once and left.
“What is it?” Valerie scratched at the base of her throat. Her gaze fixated on the stone as if puzzled and searching for an answer just out of reach.
He plucked an envelope from the drawer in Rita’s desk and let the moonstone drop inside. “Nothing of importance.”
“Is it Valentina’s? Was she wearing it on the night she disappeared?”
The curiosity breezing through Valerie’s voice almost made him smile. What happens next, Nick? Tell me more. Valentina could never get enough of the stories he’d woven to entertain her.
Stay focused. No way to tell who’d crept upstairs to leave the message. Even in a hurry, any fool who’d watched television knew enough to wear gloves. And discarded latex gloves could easily fit in a pocket or a purse.
Lionel was with the photographer, but the photographer could have made an excuse and escaped long enough to plant the necklace. And the quack and Valerie both had a chance to do the same while he and his mother were with Rita.
The way things were going, the tower ghost was just as likely to have dropped the necklace on the keyboard and used telekinesis or whatever crap ghosts used to move objects to type the freaking note.
If he couldn’t keep the crazies out, he had to keep them in and contain them.
Using the eraser end of the pencil, he pressed the print button and made two color copies of the message—one for his files and one for the detective who still handled Valentina’s case.
“Ambition is usually an admirable quality,” he said. “But not when it hurts others.”
Valerie looked him square in the eye with an intensity that threw him for a second. “Ambition is only part of what drives me. I do my job well. I’m good at it. No, make that great. The best. I tell stories that show the resiliency of spirit, the beauty of place, the importance of things, their history.” Her palms rose and she shook her head. “You can’t think I did this.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
She raised an eyebrow that said, Oh yeah? “Well, that’s a first. Does that mean I’m off the bad-guy list?”
“No.”
She tipped her head, watching him as if she could read him. “Why are you fighting so hard against answers? Don’t you want to know?”
The million-dollar question. Easy for her to ask. Impossible for him to answer. Yes, he wanted to know where Valentina’s body was hidden. Needed to know. He squeezed the back of his neck. But the answer would leave no gray ground, no hope, and he feared the knowing would destroy Rita.
“You’re just doing your job,” he said, more as a reminder to himself than to placate her. “I still have to do mine.”
Her smile brightened the bleak room. “Wow. I accept.”
He shot her a questioning glance.
“Your apology. I accept.”
He frowned away the unexpected wave of warmth and searched the desk for errant clues. “I was making a simple observation.”
A crunching noise drew his attention outside where a black sedan rolled up the driveway. Clout had its benefits. A cold case like Valentina’s could still get you a detective’s visit in less than fifteen minutes. “Why don’t you go down to the library? I’ll have Holly show you the archives.”
She turned slowly and made her way across the carpet. His mind’s eye rolled back the years, seeing a bratty three-year-old in her place, hands stuffed in her jeans pockets, scuffing the tip of her sneaker on the carpet because he didn’t want to play with her.
At the door, Valerie craned her head over her shoulder. The dove-gray wall contoured the curves of her figure in the navy pencil skirt and fitted blazer. Definitely not a little girl.
“I understand that you don’t want Valentina’s story to be voyeurism, you know,” she said.
“The jury’s still out.”
She threw her head back and the ripple of her laughter skimmed against him like light on water. “I’m so relieved. I thought you’d appointed yourself sole judge and executioner. A jury, I can handle.”
“HERE YOU ARE.” Holly opened the door to a room on the second floor after dinner that night. As far away from Rita’s quarters as possible, Valerie noticed.
“Thank you.” Valerie placed the bag, which Mike had retrieved from the inn for her, at the foot of the bed.
“The bathroom’s through that door.” Holly dropped a pile of fresh towels on the bed. “I’ll leave you alone.”
But she didn’t. She got as far as the door, then stood there, watching. And her presence pressed down Valerie’s neck like a vampire testing for a good artery, giving her a case of the creeps. “Don’t get too comfortable. This isn’t permanent.”
Holly didn’t mean to pick on her specifically, Valerie rationalized. She would treat any other person who’d invaded the mansion the same way. To protect Rita. Same as Nick. Mike and Evan had probably suffered through the same warning. Valerie caught herself toying with the hem of her blazer, then knitted her fingers together in front of her and cleared her throat. “Mike and I will be leaving on Friday.”
“See that you do.”
After Holly left, her steps spookily silent on the hallway runner, Valerie sat on the edge of the bed, alone in the dark, except for the light from the hallway.
The guest room was filled with cozy antiques that invited relaxation. A small pitcher of water covered with an upside-down glass that did double duty as a stopper rested on the night table beside the Brighton brothel bed, draped with a blue-and-white diamond-pattern quilt. An overstuffed blue-and-white French toile chair was angled to give the sitter a perfect view of Mount Monadnock outside. A collage of blue butterflies on a translucent background that looked like frosted glass rested above the cherry dresser.
But that’s where the coziness ended. No heat seemed to reach the room. Valerie removed her blazer and dug through her bag for her bright pink fleece hoodie.
Through the lace-covered window the moon hung huge and silver against a sky the color of dead coals. The sound of tree branch tips scratching against the glass crawled around the room like spiders. The plaintive howl of a faraway dog, filled with hopelessness that whatever it wanted wasn’t going to be granted, reminded Valerie of her neurotic dog and home.
She sighed. She should call her mother, see how she and said neurotic dog were getting along. But not yet. Valerie wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, or worse, pleas to come home right away to take care of some sort of imagined emergency that seemed to crop up only when Valerie was out of town. For a woman with such uncompromising strength, her mother’s clinginess when it came to her only child confused Valerie.
Which brought her thoughts back to Rita. The doctor had come and gone. Rita had refused to go to the hospital, so he’d rigged up an IV and left a long list of instructions and the suggestion Nick hire a nurse. On one hand, Rita’s illness would mean very little contact with her, so Valerie’s deception would be minimal. On the other, doing her job would be more difficult. Nick would make a rotten interview. So would Holly. Which meant she’d have to find another way to get Valentina’s story across in a way that would please Rita—and hopefully, help her recover her health.
Valerie would rather be back at the inn where the atmosphere wasn’t so thick. Where it would be easier to think creatively. Where Nick’s strong personality and her odd attraction to the man lost some of its urgency. Not attraction, that was too strong. Curiosity? That was more like it. She was curious at the pull he seemed to have on her, at the reason why her mind kept swimming into Valentina’s photo album when he was around.
Coming here was wrong. She didn’t li
ke to get emotionally involved with the subjects of her segments. She needed to keep a certain distance to put together a fair and balanced portrait. How could she do that when she was living a lie? She threw herself back on the pillows and closed her eyes.
Her phone rang. Groaning, Valerie answered it. Entertainment Tonight or Extra or another of the celebrity gossip shows her mother favored blasted in the background.
“Valerie?” her mother practically shouted. “You sound tired.”
Tired? No, more like confused and frustrated. She’d ac complished almost nothing since she’d arrived. “Long day, Mom.”
Her mother clucked. “I told you that you don’t need that job. It takes too much out of you, and it takes you too far from home.”
“I love what I do, Mom.”
“If you’d gone to nursing school like I’d suggested, you could’ve married a doctor by now, and I could have a couple of grandchildren to spoil.”
“Mom—”
“When are you coming home?”
“I told you. Friday night. Late.”
“I hope they pay you overtime for all that travel.”
“They pay me just fine.” A joke, actually, especially for all the hours she put in.
“What did you do today?”
Growing up, Valerie had had to account for every minute of her life. Arriving even five minutes late would send her mother into such a spin that Valerie had learned promptness at an early age. She’d thought that, once she was out on her own, her mother would finally ease up, but if anything, her mother seemed to equate getting on an airplane and flying to New Hampshire on a par with banishment to Siberia.
But now, seeing the devastation of Valentina’s loss on Rita Meadows, Valerie could almost understand her mother’s tight clutch. Especially since Daddy had died in a freak accident at the garage he’d owned.
Valerie sat up, feet solidly on the ground. “I read through the archives the Meadowses have collected over the years.”
“Did you find anything interesting?”
Valerie imagined her mother sitting back in the recliner in Valerie’s living room, settling in for a long chat. “A couple of possible interviews, but no, not much that was new.” Disappointing, really.
