Although Jefferson wasn’t a man for false modesty, he felt himself puff up a bit. He’d been in the clubhouse before, of course, though he wasn’t a resident. And, even if he did acknowledge it himself, he was an exceptionally good-looking man with ink dark hair—the peppering of gray adding a distinguished air—and his excellent green eyes. He was tall, and again, if he did say so himself, in damned incredibly good shape.
But that wasn’t why she should recognize him; it was because his face had been on almost every magazine cover in the country.
“Is there something going on here?” he asked. Then, before she could answer, he remembered and added solemnly, “Besides the death of poor Sigmond Vormeister? Naturally, I read about it in the paper. I’m so sorry, of course.” And then he added rather recklessly, “He was—or I should say his wife is—a patient of mine.”
The girl gasped. “Of course! You’re Dr. Charles Jefferson!” She set her tray down, miraculously not breaking any glasses, and rushed over to him. “I saw you on the cover of Time! They call you the genius of procreation!”
“Yes, that’s me.” He was about to say more, but he hesitated. He had come to Gryphon Gate for an important meeting, but as he neared the gate, the hordes of hovering journalists and a pair of well-armed guards had scared him off. Swearing under his breath, he’d pulled a U-ey and parked his car a half a mile away along the gravel road that led to Vanessa Smart-Drysdale’s Forest Glen development. From there it was a short, soggy trek through the underbrush until he reached the water. A quick rinse of his shoes, a casual stroll along the beach, and he was in.
He was late, of course; and, to add to his annoyance, his appointment hadn’t waited. As he stood in the cul-de-sac wondering what to do, a blond youth flew around the corner, jumped the curb, and ground his skateboard to a halt on the pavement a few yards away. “Looking for somebody, dude?”
“No thanks,” Jefferson said, thinking quickly, pointing to the Upshaw house. “It’s just there.”
He knew the Upshaws well, of course, having managed their fertility plan. No harm in dropping in. No one had answered his knock, however, so he’d gingerly stepped into the entrance hall, calling out. Noise from below had drawn him to the basement, but before he’d had a chance to greet her, Lydia Upshaw had attacked him, then run away, God knew where.
He’d intended to find her—once he’d been able to stand again—and explain himself. Now, with all that had happened, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to admit to anything. The place had him spooked. He was no longer wearing the ski cap he had donned against the chill of the morning, and he had shed the turtleneck sweater that had crawled halfway up his chin, but he didn’t think that he wanted to explain himself to the police. They might think it was an odd way for a doctor to dress while paying a call on a patient, and he had walked into her house unbidden.
“I’ve been looking for some friends,” he told the bartender at last, “but nobody seems to be at home. I realize, of course, that it’s Sunday, but you’ve usually got quite a houseful in here on Sunday afternoons, so I thought—”
“Oh, they were all here,” the girl said. “You just missed them.” She stuck her hand forward again, pumping his. “I’m Tiffany Turner. Rev. Peter Armbruster allowed me to bring a very special ceremony to church this morning and—well, it was delightful, a true triumph of the spirits. But everybody went a bit mad! You would have thought Satan incarnate came down!” She shook her head. “I’m afraid they’re not a group that’s used to being so in touch with the spirits.”
“You’re not a member, so I know I shouldn’t,” Tiffany said with a wink, “but what can I get you?”
Jefferson ordered a beer.
“I wasn’t supposed to have worked today,” Tiffany told him, centering a glass on a cocktail napkin in front of the doctor. “But after the rites they all rushed over from church and began drinking as if they’d been stranded in the desert for decades! But then, so much has happened! We’ve had two murders. Can you imagine? The police have been here roping off everything, asking all kinds of questions.…” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Hey, how did you get in here? No one is supposed to be coming in or out, except for residents and employees!”
“No one was at the gate,” he lied smoothly, “so I couldn’t get through. Had to leave my car outside and walk in. And it was surprisingly chilly, I can tell you.”
He remembered the warm knit cap he had been wearing and the turtleneck sweater. Of course! That’s why Lydia hadn’t recognized him! Damn the woman! He’d be sore for a month.
“How strange,” Tiffany said.
Jefferson smiled at her disarmingly over the rim of his glass. She was really a pretty girl. Tousled hair. Wide, innocent eyes. He found himself hoping that one day she’d have trouble conceiving a child and come to him.
“So much for our police protection,” Tiffany shrugged. “Ah, well, even the best of things can go sour, right, Doctor?” She leaned forward and whisked a damp rag across the table, and he caught a flash of creamy breasts. “This did seem like such a dream place. Now two people are dead and everyone is squabbling. Over deer, and property, and developments—it’s so sad, really.”
“Terribly sad,” he agreed. He felt a cold sweat coming on. He definitely didn’t want to talk to the police.
Jefferson forced an easy smile and rose to his feet. Standing there with the little beauty in front of him, he realized that he didn’t want anything more to do with Gryphon Gate. He should never have come.
Something akin to panic seized him. “Well, Tiffany, it was a pleasure to meet you. I think I’ll just bow out of here quickly and let everyone deal with their grief in their own way. Take care, dear girl. Ah! And if you ever need a … I’m in the book.”
* * *
The police. She had to call the police. She had been robbed, horribly violated, her precious jewels taken from her.
Yet, staring at her empty jewel boxes with tears in her eyes, Toni hesitated.
The police had been there too many times already.
Still, her jewels!
The police already suspected her of having murdered Sigmond. And now they might suspect her of killing the colonel, too.
But she had been violated!
A mother, with many secrets, and a child. A beautiful child. A beautiful, green-eyed little girl who must be given love and warmth and all the good things in life. No matter what.
The past be damned!
No one really knew.
Oh, yes they did. She’d received those faxes, and two men were dead, and the police were after her and …
She sank into a fit of hysterical tears. It’s so unfair!
Her tears gave way to a cry of rage. Her jewels were gone. She was going to the police!
But again, she wavered.
You have an enemy.
A vision of Tiffany and her crazed acolytes shimmered in her brain.
People will spread lies about you.
She shook her head to clear it. It had just been a ridiculous facade of a church service, for heaven’s sake.
But the police already thought that she might be guilty of the murders. And, yes, she had an enemy. Maybe the jewels had been stolen just so that she would go to the police. Maybe some kind of evidence had been planted that would incriminate her.
She wasn’t the murderess! All right, so she might be considered a murderess, but she wasn’t the murderess. And you couldn’t really consider Lincoln’s death a murder. It had been an act of mercy. Mercy for her, of course, but still …
Toni couldn’t think straight. She needed a drink, time to sort it all out, make a plan.
She had just opened the liquor cabinet when the telephone started to ring.
* * *
Roach, roach, roach! No, Roach, Roach, Roach, capital R.
Jerry Lynch was beside himself. The service had been absurd. The silly hopping people had gone on and on disturbingly, and yet—ridiculous as it was—too much had come out.
; He could still feel the drums beating in his head.
He needed to be by himself, to have time to think. Before he eluded his wife at the bar, Renée had said something about making sure Rachel was doing all right, so he was certain he’d have the house to himself.
But as he crossed the magnificent lawn that sloped gently away from his house toward the marina, he saw Anka closing the front door behind her. She was something, in a skintight synthetic pantsuit and with a briefcase in her hands. She didn’t look like a maid at all, oh, no. She was exotic. Beautifully so. A temptress.
Suddenly it seemed that the drumbeats were no longer in his head. They had transferred to his groin.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
That was what he needed. Exactly what he needed.
He strode quickly up the walk, grabbing Anka’s free hand. “Come back inside. Quickly. We’ve got some time alone.”
Anka resisted. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Mr. Lynch, I have to—I have to leave for a few days. My sister is ill. I’ve got to go right away.”
“Your sister? You told us you were an only child,” Jerry said.
“I—I only said that so you would hire me, so you wouldn’t be afraid that I’d have to—well, that I’d have to run out like this,” Anka explained.
Damn, her eyes were soulful. Huge, dark. Jerry felt the drumbeats in him again. Hell, he felt like a caveman. “Your sister will wait. I’ll make it worth your while.” He curled his fingers strongly around her arm, dragging her back into the house.
“Look, Mr. Lynch, I’ve got to get going, I must, it’s a life-or-death situation.”
“I’m a life-or-death situation at this moment!” he whispered passionately into her glorious hair.
He wasn’t going to be able to keep her, he knew, but suddenly he felt more vital than he had in his entire life. Like a prize racing stud about to explode.
The nanny was upstairs with the baby, he reminded himself. But then, if the baby was sleeping, the nanny would be watching TV. It would take her time to come downstairs, even if she heard noises from the nursery.
The danger made it all the more exciting.
It was the drums.
It was the fear.
It was that damned spirit being calling out about Roach.
Whatever, he was feeling desperate.
He’d dragged her as far as the hallway—the marble-covered hallway just inside the front door. With the mirror at the entrance reflecting their every move, it would be ungodly sensual. Just what he needed. Right in Renée’s beautifully designed, Louis Quatorze entryway.
“Quickly!” he urged.
Anka held the briefcase between them as if it were a lifesaver. Strange, he thought vaguely, that she was leaving with a briefcase, not a suitcase. But he was so enamored of her scent and hair and the rise of her breasts against the polyester that he couldn’t concentrate on any such oddity. “Give me that!” he demanded.
A little cry tore from her lips as he grasped the case and sent it flying across the white marble. He was vaguely aware that it struck a wall. But his eyes were only for her.
“Mr. Lynch, honestly, I’ve got to go.…”
“I won’t be but a second,” Jerry moaned.
* * *
No, that’s true, you won’t be! Anka thought.
She couldn’t see her precious briefcase anymore. Jerry was strong. And in some kind of a state. It must have been that stupid church service.
Great, fine, just do it! Then I can go!
Jerry didn’t seem to know whether to claw at his own zipper or her pantsuit. Anka took over, sliding out of the garment—she had learned to disrobe very quickly in her business—and moved like lightning to help him as well.
The best-looking man in the world would seem ridiculous with his BVDs and trousers wound around his ankles. And though not bad, Jerry certainly wasn’t the best-looking man in the world.
Just get to it! She told herself.
And so, there they were, she naked, Jerry all knotted up in his boxers and trousers, abandoned to passion on the white marble floor when the door flew open.
Anka looked over his shoulder and froze. She slammed a fist against Jerry’s shoulder.
“Your wife!” she whispered.
“What? What?” Jerry demanded, panting hard.
Smart, clicking footsteps moved over the marble. Renée was above them now, staring down, oddly detached, a smile of amusement on her face. But her eyes cut like razors.
“She said, ’Your wife,’ darling,” Renée crooned.
Jerry went limp. He tried to rise and tripped over his BVDs. It was actually quite comical, Anka thought, or it would have been, had the situation not been so dire.
Surely, it was only seconds, but those seconds seemed like hours, as Jerry careened backwards and forwards, trying to catch his balance. He never succeeded. Jerry Lynch went down with a bang, moaning slightly as his head struck the marble.
“I thought you were comforting Rachel,” Jerry complained, as if he were the one betrayed.
“She only needed so much comforting,” Renée said crisply. “Jerry, for the love of God, get up and fix yourself!” Renee commanded. “And Anka … well, well. Actually, I imagined you’d look better naked. Maybe our next maid will be an improvement. Because you, of course, are fired.”
“Yes, absolutely! She’s fired,” Jerry agreed, desperately searching his wife’s face. “You’ve got to understand, Renée. I’ve had a few drinks. I didn’t mean to … she was just here, naked in the hall, trying to seduce me. It was the drums. It was that ridiculous church service. It’s as if I were … possessed.”
“Um, right,” Renée murmured.
“You, you’re fired,” Jerry repeated to Anka.
Anka didn’t give a damn about being fired. All the better to get out of there quickly. Just as she knew how to strip, she knew how to dress in the blink of an eye. She kept her lashes lowered as she slipped back into her clothing.
Her eyes were still downcast as she spoke. “Yes, Jerry, I deserve to be fired, I’m so evil, it was all my fault. I agree, it was that church service.” She turned to Renée, suddenly demure. “Mrs. Lynch, believe me, I’m so sorry. I understand, I don’t protest your decision in the least. I’m getting out of here immediately. You’ll never have to see my face again.”
She looked up, amazed at the sound of the laughter that followed her humble admission of guilt.
Renée Lynch stood blocking the doorway, her arms folded over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll be leaving so quickly.”
“But—but—you want me gone, of course.”
Next to his wife, Jerry nodded vigorously and struggled with his pants.
“I think we have something to discuss,” Renée said.
“I don’t want a divorce,” Jerry said dully.
“Of course not, dear,” Renée reassured her husband, not sending so much as a flicker of a glance his way. She was staring at Anka. “I am sure, however, that you, like me, would love to have an explanation for all the jewelry spilling out of that briefcase over there. I know it’s not mine. Thankfully, I keep mine locked away. You never know when someone might attend one of those spirit services and become possessed by a thieving Umbandan,” she added wryly. “But for now, Anka, dear, an explanation would be in order.”
The three of them were frozen there—Jerry, not fully recovered, still tangled in his pant legs, leaning bare ding-donged against the wall, Anka, dressed, but pale and feeling like a caged rat, and Renée, totally regal and bitchy, blocking the door like a sentinel, arms still crossed over her chest—when the phone began to ring.
* * *
Toni was seated on her bed mired in a true dilemma, when Miranda walked into the room. Her precious daughter crawled up on the bed beside her and cradled her mother’s face between her two chubby hands. Miranda stared at Toni with beautiful, sorrowful eyes. Eyes far too grave, serious, and concerned for those of a child.
“Mommy, are you all right? They were wro
ng in church. You’re sweet and good, and you love the deer and the other animals. You don’t have any enemies.”
So, she thought, quickly cuddling Miranda to her, her daughter was aware of far more than she had realized.
“Oh, my darling!” Toni murmured, so sorry for the all the evils in her life. “Please don’t worry. It was just a silly happening at the church. Reverend Armbruster tries hard, but sometimes, he brings in people who are not quite right.”
Not quite right. Like everyone living in Gryphon Gate, Toni mused with a weary philosophy that was unusual for her. “Don’t be upset, Miranda. It’s all right. Mommy’s enemies are not going to get to her.”
“I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you, too, precious.” And she did. Toni loved her daughter more than anything in the world.
More than her jewels.
She suddenly wished that Peter Armbruster was more of a priest. She could use some easement of her soul. Sitting there, holding her daughter, she tried to convince herself that what she had done was right. The state should have arrested Lincoln and executed him. The things he had done to young children had certainly been far more horrible than what she had conspired to do to him.
But it wasn’t her right to take his life. And with Miranda at her side, the guilt of it weighed heavily on her. She didn’t want to leave her daughter without a mother.
First, there had been the fax and the awful discovery of Sigmond’s body. Then, the police—believing that she might have done it! Then, another murder and the horrible church service.
And now the call from Lydia. She sighed, ruffled her daughter’s hair, and said, “Sweetheart, later we’re going to do something fun. Together. You and I. Mother and daughter. But I have to leave you with Bertha for a bit.”
“Why, Mommy?”
“Mrs. Upshaw is upset about something. I have to go see her.”
“But you’re upset.”
Upset? The understatement of the year, Toni thought.
“No, darling, I’m all right.”
“What are we going to do that’s fun?”
“I … I don’t know,” Toni said distractedly. “We’ll make cookies together, how’s that?”
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