Finding Laura (21 page)

Kerry smiled. “These days, when women are wearing clunky boots with thin skirts, I don’t think it would matter very much. But these should do fine. And don’t be self-conscious; Amelia’s been trying to dress me properly for years now, and I can’t seem to satisfy her. I’m her project.”

There was nothing of self-consciousness in Kerry’s soft voice; if anything, she seemed amused by her failure to live up to Amelia’s standards. Once again, Laura thought that she’d really like to get to know this woman.
But, of course, I had to be suspected of her husband’s murder. And of being his latest mistress
.

“I imagine most people fall short of Amelia’s expectations,” Laura said a bit wryly.

“Sooner or later,” Kerry agreed, again with that hint of amusement. “Now I’d better go finish getting ready, and leave you to. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask, Laura. My room is in the west wing—the first room on the right.”

“Thanks, Kerry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

When she was alone again in the sitting room, Laura went through the things Kerry had left for her. A very pretty long nightgown and matching robe; a simple black ankle-length dress; a dark green skirt and blouse; and a royal blue dress. Everything was in excellent taste—for
Laura. She saw immediately that the outfits had been chosen with care and with her coloring in mind, and she knew the styles would suit her beautifully.

Which was interesting, Laura thought. Because Kerry had picked from her own closet clothing that would look wonderful on Laura and yet was clearly wrong for Kerry’s angular body and washed-out coloring. In other words, she had displayed excellent taste in dressing another woman in her own clothes.

Laura had a hunch that Kerry’s seeming inability to dress “properly” enough to suit Amelia was less a matter of ineptness and more a matter of gentle rebellion. No woman, Laura thought, who moved with Kerry’s sensuous grace could fail to
know
how to wear clothing well, even if she chose not to. It was another sign of an interesting and complex personality.

Thinking about that, Laura went to take a quick shower, ruefully amused to find in the bathroom a basket of toiletries that included everything from a new toothbrush wrapped in plastic and a selection of shampoos and skin care lotions to a set of very nice combs and brushes. Either the Kilbournes—meaning Amelia—believed in being prepared for the unprepared guest, or else Amelia had fully expected Laura to spend a night here sooner or later.

Laura decided not to think about that too much. She showered and then got dressed, choosing the black dress because her loafers were black and also because she knew black was one of her best colors; the extra measure of confidence, she figured, couldn’t hurt.

She freed her long hair from its braid and brushed it out. There was so much of it—enough for three people, her hairdresser claimed—that she seldom left it loose, but she did now because it seemed to suit the simple, almost Oriental style of the dress. She had only the makeup in her purse, which meant foundation and lipstick, but since that was all she normally wore, it was enough.

It was ten minutes to six when Laura gathered her nerve and left her suite to go downstairs. The quiet struck her immediately, especially since she’d had the TV in her sitting room on just for the company. Was it another of Amelia’s ideas of how things should be done that it was always so quiet in the house?

She went down the broad staircase and crossed the foyer to the front parlor, which was across from the library. She expected at least several family members to be already in the room, but there was only one.

Daniel.

He was standing at the marble fireplace, where a cheerful gas-log fire crackled in the hearth and sought to both warm the slightly chilly room and provide a comforting contrast to the storm rumbling outside. He didn’t realize she was there immediately, and in the moment or so before he did, Laura took advantage of the rare opportunity to study him without his awareness.

The dark suit he wore was sober, the tie tasteful and conservative, yet neither could diminish or disguise the latent power of his body; Daniel Kilbourne could never be unobtrusive. He would always be noticed. Particularly, she thought, by women. At least, that was the reason she offered to herself for this growing hunger inside her every time she saw him.

That had to be the reason.

He gazed down into the fire, the flickering light throwing an occasional shadow to make his face appear masklike. Yet he was not, now, as enigmatic as he had always seemed to Laura. For the first time, she saw a hint of strain around his mouth, and the frown drawing his brows together looked very much like worry. She thought, looking at him, that he was beginning to feel the burdens he carried.

He looked up then, seeing her, and just as in the maze, Laura felt that it was suddenly difficult to breathe. She
couldn’t look away from him, and her heart was thudding against her ribs, and she was so powerfully drawn to him that she felt an almost physical tugging at some deep part of her. She could have sworn there was a flashing response in his pale eyes, a heat as vivid and real as the fire crackling beside him. She could have sworn he—almost—reached out to her.

But then he moved his head slightly, and it was gone. It was all gone.

“Good evening, Laura.” He was polite, his voice pleasant and detached.

I’ve got to stop imagining this! I’ve got to
 … “Good evening.” Her voice was calm, she thought, so at least she wasn’t making a total fool of herself.

“The others should be down shortly. Would you like a drink?” He nodded toward the wet bar in the corner by the door.

“No, thank you.” She moved farther into the room, circling around the grouping of sofas, chair, and coffee table before the fireplace to take up a position behind one of the sofas and near the windows. She had half-consciously put most of the room in front of her, with her back to the wall, and it was only as she did so that she realized just how wary and unsettled she felt.

Daniel didn’t appear to notice or, if he did, chose not to comment.

“You were wise to decide to stay the night,” he said, as thunder crashed and rolled and the sounds of the wind outside became audible.

Laura wondered if Amelia had told him, or if he had simply assumed when she appeared dressed for dinner, but didn’t ask. “I hate being out in a storm,” she said. “Driving in one, I mean.”

“Most people do.” He continued to look at her with detachment.

Laura felt a flicker of irritation, wondering if he had
any intention of moving beyond banal small talk; somehow she didn’t think so. Looking at him now, she could hardly believe he had, only hours earlier, told her that he believed his grandmother had murdered his grandfather.

Oh, hell, maybe I imagined that too …

“Hey, thought I’d be the last one down. Where is everybody?” Alex strolled into the room, his dark suit sober and formal, and his necktie spotted with bright green frogs in various stages of leaping. He nodded at Laura, seemingly unsurprised to find her still here.

Rather than answering the question, Daniel said, “Care to be bartender?”

“Sure. What’ll you have?”

“Scotch.”

Alex nodded. “Laura?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

Alex went to the wet bar and fixed drinks for himself and Daniel. He had just taken his glass to Daniel and returned to the bar when Josie and Kerry came in. “Ladies?” he asked, indicating his role with a sweeping gesture.

Josie shook her head and Kerry asked for a small whiskey. When she came in a moment later, Anne requested Scotch.

“Is your mother coming down?” Alex asked Daniel.

“I believe so. She seems … better today.”

Josie came to sit on the sofa nearest Laura, joined a moment later by Kerry, while Anne slouched down on the sofa across from them. Anne was dressed more casually than the other women, in a skimpy silk T-shirt and long print skirt—and a pair of the clunky ankle boots Kerry had earlier commented on. Josie was in very dark green, a beautiful long dress with a deep V neckline, and wore her auburn hair piled on her head with casual elegance.

Kerry wore a long black satin skirt and dark blue silk blouse, an outfit that would have looked fine except for
the peculiar sweater vest she had chosen to wear over the blouse.

“I thought that dress would suit you,” she remarked softly as she sat down and looked back over her shoulder at Laura.

Unable to return the compliment, Laura merely said, “Thanks again, Kerry.”

“So, what did you think of the maze?” Josie asked, half turning to look up at Laura with a smile.

“I think it’s diabolical.” Laura very carefully didn’t look toward Daniel, but she knew he was listening. “But fascinating. And the center is just lovely.” She looked at Kerry. “The gazebo especially.”

Obviously pleased, Kerry said, “I change the interior in the spring and late fall, so it’s almost time. Darker, warmer colors for winter.”

With a sigh, Josie said, “I’d spend hours every day out there if I could. Even after you learn the key, it’s a nice, brisk walk to the center, and then you just want to stay there.”

“It’s my favorite place in the world,” Kerry said.

“It’s a bunch of bushes,” Anne said petulantly, swirling the ice around and around in her glass. “We ought to use the space for a tennis court.”

Looking across at the dark woman, Laura couldn’t help wondering if Anne was always so fractious, or if Peter’s murder and its aftermath had affected her more than the others. She certainly seemed wired, her entire thin body tense and her movements jerky, and her voice was so sharp that it cut off even an attempt by the others to keep the conversation going.

Madeline walked into the silence. Wearing a simple black dress of a medium length, her hair and makeup once more flawless, she smiled vaguely at the assembled group. “How nice. Amelia isn’t down yet?” Her eyes were clearer than they had been the day before, so her manner appeared
to be more normal and less influenced by sedatives—but Laura had to wonder if the positioning of the comment and question implied what it seemed to.

It was Alex who chose to answer her, his tone light and somewhat careless. “I’m sure she will be now that the audience is here. Can I get you something, Madeline?”

“No, dear, the doctor says not,” she told him as she went to sit on the opposite end of Anne’s sofa. “But thank you.” Then, in the same sweet tone, she added, “You really shouldn’t say such things about Amelia, Alex. She wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s all right, Madeline. Amelia and I understand each other.”

Amelia came into the room, elegant and regal in her usual black, leaning only slightly on her silver-headed cane. “Do we, Alex? Have you been insulting me?”

With a wounded expression, he said, “Never. I’m always admiring, Amelia. Always. Sherry?”

“Yes, thank you.” She went to the chair in the grouping around the fireplace and sat down, smiling pleasantly at the others. “You all look very nice,” she said in satisfaction, and although it was obvious she more or less ignored Anne’s outfit, she did add, “Kerry, dear, not the vest.”

“Sorry, Amelia,” Kerry said meekly.

Alex brought Amelia her drink, and was just turning back to the bar when the doorbell rang. “Who’d be out on a night like this?” he muttered. “Should I get it, Amelia, or ignore it?”

Laura found the question a bit odd, but no one else seemed to. Amelia was frowning just a bit, and she seemed more resigned than gracious when she said, “They got past the gatehouse, so I don’t see that we have a choice. See who it is, Alex.”

He went promptly, and the others waited in silence. They heard the low sounds of voices, both male, and a few moments later Alex came back into the parlor with an
expression that was both wry and somewhat guarded. As another man came into the room behind him, Alex said to the room at large, “Not a social call, I’m afraid.”

The newcomer was tall, broad-shouldered though not heavily built, and his black hair glistened wetly from the rain. He was a strikingly handsome man, with hawklike features and penetrating gray eyes. He had obviously discarded a raincoat, since his very nice suit jacket was dry, and he didn’t seem at all disturbed to walk into a room filled with numerous Kilbournes.

“Hello, Brent,” Daniel said.

“Daniel. Ladies.” His gaze fell on Laura, and he added, “Hello again, Miss Sutherland. I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

“I remember you very well, Lieutenant.” How could she forget? Laura wondered. She had spoken briefly to this man while still trying to scrub ink off her fingers from the fingerprinting the Monday after Peter’s murder. Brent Landry, a homicide lieutenant, had asked her only a few questions, and those politely, but he hadn’t expressed much belief in Laura’s innocence.

Amelia, who had her back to the door and, so, to the guest, and who made no effort to turn, said sharply, “I detest this modern habit of calling on people at the dinner hour to be certain of finding them at home.”

No one seemed surprised by the old lady’s temper. Laura, watching curiously, saw Brent Landry lift his eyebrows at Daniel questioningly. With a slight gesture indicating his own position, Daniel gave way for the other man, joining Laura behind the sofa nearest the windows, and Landry went to stand at the fireplace, where he could see everyone in the room—and where Amelia did not have to turn to see him.

“Well?” she demanded, frowning at him.

“I’m sorry for the hour, Miss Amelia,” he said gravely. “But policemen do sometimes have to be rude.”

“Your grandmother would turn in her grave. She taught you better. How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine, Miss Amelia. And, as Alex said, this isn’t a social call.”

From that brief exchange, Laura gathered several things. That Brent Landry was evidently what Amelia would consider her social equal rather than a mere policeman, that he knew the family rather well, and that he had, gently but firmly, resisted Amelia’s obvious attempt to reduce him to the status of boyhood. He was not going to hand over command of this situation to the old lady no matter how well she had known his grandmother.