Finding Laura (20 page)

“I don’t suppose you’ve confided your suspicions to the police?”

“No.”

She looked up at his face, shadowy under the umbrella, and wished she knew whether or not to believe him about any of this. They were walking so close together that she was overwhelmingly aware of him, and that kept clouding her thoughts. His hand was warm and hard, and she had to fight a ridiculous urge to lift it and rub her cheek against it.

His fingers tightened a little as though he had read her mind again, but all Daniel said was, “Leave it alone, Laura. Do what you came here to do. Paint Amelia’s portrait. Let the police investigate the murder.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t been a suspect.”

“I’ve been a suspect in your eyes.”

She hadn’t meant to, but Laura heard herself say, “No. Not really.”

His fingers tightened again. “Definitely a beguiling way about you.”

“Then maybe I should take advantage of it. Tell me about the mirror, Daniel.” This time she didn’t look up at him.

“I have nothing to say about it.” His response was so prompt that it seemed obvious he had expected the request sooner or later.

“Then tell me why you never asked to see it.”

He was silent for several steps. “Lack of curiosity, I suppose.”

“Well, you know, that’s a funny thing. You really should have been curious. I mean, a stranger comes to you and tells you that hours before his death, your brother tried to buy back a mirror she’d bought from your family’s estate sale earlier that day. That he offered her an incredible price for the mirror. And you never even ask to see it.”

“So?”

“So it isn’t … natural. You should have been curious. Why weren’t you curious, Daniel?”

“I had just buried my brother. I didn’t care about mirrors.” There was a touch of impatience in his voice now. “Besides that, I’d learned all I needed to from the inventory of the sale. The mirror was not a Kilbourne family heirloom and was therefore of no interest to me.”

You just lied again, Daniel
. She wanted to pursue the matter, but it was clear that he had no intention of telling her what he knew about the mirror—for the moment, at least. Besides, there was so much in her head now that she could barely think straight.

She fell silent, walking beside him with her hand in his and taking only vague notice of the turns he made. Which is why she was surprised when they emerged from the maze in remarkably short order.

Sighing, she said, “I should probably ask for the key. But I’m not going to.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re a very stubborn woman?”

“Why do I get the feeling that was a rhetorical question?” She glanced up, saw him smile, and wished it didn’t make her feel so absurdly pleased.

The rain was light but steady, tapping against the umbrella rhythmically as they followed the graveled path back up to the house. When they neared the veranda and passed over the flat patch of ground that had once housed the pool, she couldn’t help saying, “You don’t really think she killed your grandfather, do you?”

After a moment he replied, “No, of course not.”

And he was lying.

Wishing she hadn’t asked the question, Laura walked beside him up onto the veranda and then into the conservatory. He released her hand only then and occupied himself in shaking out the umbrella and leaving it by the door.

“Amelia’s probably in her parlor,” he said.

“Yes, I imagine so.” She got her sketchpad off the chaise where she had left it, holding it against her like a shield. “Thanks for the rescue,” she added lightly.

“My pleasure.” He looked at her as though he wanted to say something else, but finally shook his head a little and headed toward the doorway to the house.

Alone, Laura hesitated a moment before going in search of Amelia. She opened her sketchpad and flipped through the pages rapidly, finding everything as it should be. Except for one thing.

The secret sketch of Daniel was gone, torn neatly from the pad.

And Laura didn’t know which possibility unnerved her more. That Daniel had taken it—or that someone else had.

A
melia didn’t mention Laura’s having been with Daniel until later in the afternoon, when Laura was just finishing up a sketch of Amelia against the background of the elegant marble fireplace in the front parlor.

“Did you enjoy the maze, child?”

Laura, who had been trying very hard without much success to not think of her subject as a possible murderess, answered more or less at random. “Very much. And the center’s absolutely beautiful.”

“You found your way there so quickly?”

“Well, no. Actually, I was lost.”

“Then Daniel took you to the center?” Though her voice was pleasant, something in the way she asked the question made her displeasure evident.

“It was about to start raining,” Laura said. “The gazebo was the closest shelter.” Aware that she sounded a bit defensive, she added hastily, “I’m going to have to figure out the key to the maze; even though I enjoyed wandering
through it, going directly to the center certainly has its own rewards. It’s a wonderful maze, Amelia.”

“Yes, David loved it,” Amelia said. “I haven’t been out there in years, I’m afraid.”

The implication was clear—that the old lady couldn’t bear to spend time in a place her dead husband had loved so much. Laura looked at Amelia over the top of the sketchpad, studying that aged but still elegant face, those enigmatic dark eyes and the faint, sad smile, and she tried to imagine what Amelia must have been like forty years before. Could she have had something of Anne’s wired anger and discontent? Could there have been rage enough in her then to drive her to hit her husband with something heavy enough to kill him?

And could she, afterward, mourn him so devotedly for decades?

Laura closed her sketchpad and, abruptly, before she lost her nerve, asked, “Amelia, why did you warn me about Daniel?”

“Because I’m concerned about you, child.” The reply was prompt, and Amelia did look suddenly anxious. “You’re a beautiful young woman, and Daniel isn’t immune to that. But he’s a hard man, Laura. He … uses people. I don’t want him to use you.”

It sounded reasonable enough on the face of it—an elderly lady’s concern for the vulnerable heart of a young friend. But Laura didn’t quite believe it. Amelia’s first warning had been too intense, her demeanor too nervous, almost frightened, and that had suggested more a fear for Laura’s physical well-being than concern over her love life. Yet now the old lady claimed merely to be worried that her grandson might seduce, and presumably abandon, Laura. It didn’t ring true. It was almost as if Amelia had thought about it in the days since and had decided—for whatever reason—that a less agitated and more specific warning might carry more weight.

After a moment, Laura said mildly, “Thank you for your concern, Amelia, but I’m twenty-eight, not eighteen. And I’m no innocent.”

If anything, Amelia looked even more anxious. “I’m sure you think so, child, but I doubt very much if you’ve encountered a man like Daniel before. He is dangerous, in his way. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, and he doesn’t care who he hurts. Just … be careful, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t believe everything he tells you.” Her face changed slightly, and she added softly, “Peter charmed his way through life. Daniel is far more ruthless. He doesn’t let anyone get in his way.”

“You aren’t at all likely to … get in her way,”
Daniel had said.

It didn’t surprise Laura that the words were so similar, because she was certain both Amelia and Daniel wanted something, that they were quietly and subtly battling each other for what they wanted, and that each of them was already, in some way, using Laura against the other.

What she couldn’t figure out
because
it was all so subtle was exactly what was going on and how she, a virtual stranger, could be involved. How could she be used—as a weapon or a pawn—when she had no stake in their battle?

Or did she?

Finally, Laura said, “I’ll be careful, Amelia.” Then she smiled. “But I think you’re exaggerating both my appeal and Daniel’s interest—to say nothing of my own. I’m here to paint your portrait, that’s all.”

Amelia nodded, though she was patently unconvinced.

Laura was just about to say that she should probably be on her way home when the storm that had been lurking about all afternoon chose that moment to attack. And it definitely sounded like an attack. Thunder boomed so strongly that the walls and windows of the big house vibrated audibly, wind-driven rain pelted the windows, and a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the room.

Frowning, Amelia said, “Laura, you can’t drive home in this mess. It wouldn’t be at all safe to be on the roads now. Why don’t you just stay the night? We have a room all ready for you.”

“Thank you, Amelia, but surely it’ll slack off in a little while—”

Another rolling boom of thunder kept Amelia from answering for a moment, but then she said, “According to the forecast, we’ll have a series of storms all evening. Stay, Laura, please. For my peace of mind if nothing else.”

Laura really didn’t like to drive in the rain, let alone a storm. Besides which, refusing Amelia’s courteous—and practical—invitation would have been rude in the extreme, and although Laura found the house too dark and stifling to be very comfortable, she didn’t want to make that fact obvious to Amelia.

Nodding, she said, “Thank you, Amelia, it’s very kind of you.”

“Oh, nonsense, child. I’ve wanted you to stay here from the beginning, as well you know.” Amelia got to her feet, a bit more briskly than usual and seemingly not in the least stiff from sitting so long. “Now, why don’t I show you to your room? You can rest awhile if you like. We have dinner at six.”

As Laura rose, she glanced down at her slacks, knit shirt, and casual linen blazer, and thought that while she looked okay for supper, she was undoubtedly underdressed for dinner at the Kilbourne house. But before she could comment, Amelia was going on matter-of-factly.

“You and Kerry should wear the same size, I think, so we should be able to find you something to sleep in. As for dinner, I ask that everyone dress for that meal as they would a meal out at a nice restaurant; I’m sure Kerry can find you a pretty dress or skirt.”

Laura felt more than a little disturbed by the idea of sharing clothing with Peter’s widow, but told herself
firmly not to be absurd. As long as Kerry didn’t mind, of course.

“She won’t mind?” she asked Amelia.

“Not at all, she’s a very sweet girl. I’ll see her after I take you to your room.”

Laura found herself following meekly after Amelia. Ten minutes later she was standing alone in the largest of four guest suites on the second floor of the main section of the house, looking around her with an odd feeling of unreality. The suite consisted of a bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom, all sized generously. There was a private phone line for the convenience of guests, Amelia had said, and the television in the sitting room was, of course, hooked up to cable.

The suite was the prettiest set of rooms Laura had seen in the house, and not nearly as dark as most of the other rooms seemed to be. The wallpaper was a bit ornate, and the four-poster bed had a canopy with elaborate flowing draperies, but the filmy curtains at the big windows let in plenty of light, the furniture was delicate rather than heavy, and there was a working fireplace in the sitting room.

“I shouldn’t have luggage,” Laura muttered to herself. “I should have
trunks.”
She had never in her life been in a private home with this kind of elegant, ostentatious accommodations for guests. In fact, she hadn’t realized that such places still existed.

Then again, how many private homes had grounds with extensive gardens and a four-acre maze?

Shaking her head a little, Laura found herself drawn across the sitting room to a mirror hanging above a side table. As always. And as always, when she reached it she stood looking at the reflection of the room behind her as it appeared over her right shoulder. But whatever she was looking for wasn’t there, and the room seemed oddly empty.

She turned away finally and glanced at her watch, seeing that it was four-thirty. After a moment’s thought, she used the private phone line to call Cassidy and leave a message on her answering machine.

“Hi, Cass, it’s me. Guess where I’m sleeping tonight?”

I
T WAS FIVE
when there was a soft knock at the sitting room door, and Laura answered it to find Kerry. The younger woman, who was wearing a dark terrycloth robe and smelled of soap, had an armful of clothing and smiled tentatively in greeting.

“Hello, Laura.”

“Hi, Kerry.” Laura stepped back in invitation, and as Kerry came into the sitting room, added, “Look, I hope you don’t mind, but Amelia—”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Kerry placed the clothing over the back of a chair and turned to smile less hesitantly. “I imagine Amelia didn’t give you much choice, anyway—about wearing some of my clothes, I mean. She can be a bit … overpowering.”

“You can say that again.”

“She likes things done a certain way here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Life is more … peaceful … when the rest of us go along.”

Laura looked at Kerry’s plain, scarred face with its clear, gentle hazel eyes, and wished suddenly that she could spend more time with this woman. She had a feeling that of all the women in this house, Kerry would turn out to be the most complex. And the most interesting.

“We meet downstairs in the front parlor at six,” she told Laura helpfully. “Dinner is actually at six-thirty. Amelia likes to hear what everyone’s done during the day before we sit down to eat. And she likes us to dress well—whether elegant clothes suit us or not.”

“I see. Thank you,” Laura said, wondering absently what kind of clothing Kerry would prefer, given a choice.

“I picked out a few things for you to choose from,” Kerry went on with a glance at the clothing she’d put down. “Long skirts, I thought, to better match your shoes. Mine would be two sizes too large.”

Laura couldn’t help looking down to compare, and thought that the other woman would wear a size or two larger than her own size six. “That was very thoughtful,” she said gratefully. “It had just occurred to me that loafers aren’t too dressy.”