Share No Secrets (35 page)

“Start what over? Your career?”

“Partly. Mostly my personal life. I’ve been married twice, Adrienne, and I didn’t really know either of those women.”

“What are you saying? That the divorces happened because they disappointed you? They weren’t good women?”

“They were probably fine women. Honestly, I didn’t get to know either of them well, not the way you should know a wife. I didn’t bother to because I quickly realized they weren’t what I’d once had, what I wanted more than anything” He looked at her. “They weren’t you.”

Adrienne fell silent, stunned. Drew went back to looking out the window. She stared at the floor. The phone went off like a bomb and Adrienne nearly leaped out of her chair.

“Good grief!” she yelled accusingly at no one, then ran to answer. It was Lucas.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, considering. Lucas, where
were
you?”

“In a ditch. Unconscious. Someone shot out one of my tires. I went careening off the highway into the woods. Then they shot me in the shoulder. It took a little while for Sonny Keller and the troops to find me.”

“My God,” she breathed. “How badly are you hurt?”

“The doctor says I’ll live. The shot went straight through and there’s no bone damage. I could in good conscience take a day off, but I don’t want to. I couldn’t stand to. I have to find out what’s going on in this area.” He paused. “Keller filled me in on what happened to you.”

“No doubt it was the same shooter, but how did he know to get both of us? No one knew you were coming to Lottie’s.”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said vaguely. He sounded as if he were in pain. “I must have been followed. And so were you.”

She knew Drew had followed her. He openly admitted it. But she was certain he hadn’t shot at her. That meant there was another player in the game, someone still out there, still waiting for another shot.

After Lucas’s call, Adrienne told Drew the sheriff was wounded but not seriously, the trouble seemed to have died down for the night, and he could leave.

“I don’t think so,” he returned equably after a moment of thought. “Lottie hasn’t been found. Neither has the shooter. That doesn’t make me feel any better about your safety than I did a half hour ago. So I’m staying until morning whether or not I’m welcome.”

Adrienne worked hard at looking resigned to hide her vast relief. She was still deeply shaken by the shooting at Lottie’s cabin, and the fear she’d carried around with her for the past few days remained settled like a cold rock in her stomach. She was jittery. She was cold. She was wide awake, every nerve tingling. She couldn’t imagine calming down for weeks, much less tonight, and she was glad she didn’t have to wait alone through the long dark hours until morning.

Both she and Drew agreed they were too wired to sleep, but they still switched from caffeine-infused coffee to wine in an effort to wind down a notch. Adrienne put on some music, and they sat down a few inches apart on the couch. Brandon fell into a comfortable, snoring stupor at their feet.

Finally Drew asked, “Does Lucas have any idea who might have shot him?”

“No. But he said they haven’t been able to locate Miles Shaw since he was questioned before noon yesterday about Margaret’s murder. Miles seems to be purposely making himself scarce.”

“Shaw has no reason to be frightened. He has an alibi. At least ten people have already sworn they saw him in Heaven’s Door at the time of Margaret’s murder.”

“Ten people? How do you know that?”

Drew looked at her cannily. “I have sources in the police department, my dear. I know every word Shaw said in his interrogation and every step that’s been taken in the ensuing investigation.”

“Well, aren’t you the deep one,” Adrienne said, only half joking. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. Even back in high school you had a gift for keeping your finger on the pulse of things.”

“It is a rare and fine gift,” Drew agreed solemnly. “It’s called being nosy.”

“Lots of people are nosy but they aren’t good at finding out what they want to know. You are a master at it. No wonder you went into journalism. But back in high school, you claimed your goal was to write the Great American Novel.”

“About five hundred thousand other people and I want to write it and end up working at newspapers instead.” He drained his wine and reached for the bottle that sat on the huge stained-glass-topped table in front of them. “Good wine.”

“Nothing expensive. I’m hardly a connoisseur like my brother-in-law.”

“Philip probably doesn’t even like wine. He just collects expensive vintages because he considers it the correct thing to do for someone in his social position. Philip always does the correct thing.”

“Almost
always,” Adrienne said sourly, instantly regretting her words when Drew gave her a quick, curious look.

Still, in this moment of closeness, Adrienne wanted desperately to ask Drew if he’d known about Philip and Julianna. She couldn’t, though. She had to remember that Drew was a newspaperman. Philip was family. Technically, at least Philip had never felt like family to her, and she knew his feelings toward her were less than kind. They’d always barely tolerated each other. Julianna’s passion for him baffled her. So did her ability to keep it a secret for so long. Adrienne never had a clue. Had Kit known? Drew tilted his head, his dark eyes twinkling at her. “What’s on your mind?”

“The strange ways of romance.” He raised his eyebrows and she went on, knowing drinking too much wine too fast was making her dangerously talkative but unable to stop herself. “I mean, the way people are attracted to each other. Or not. There can be a man and woman you’d think would ignite all kinds of sparks between each other, but
phttt.
Nothing. Then there are some people you would never expect to look twice at each other and they fall madly in love.
Really
in love for years. Maybe forever, if love actually goes on forever, even beyond death.” She looked at him. “I’m babbling.”

“No you’re not You have something definite on your mind. I
know
your talk of love lasting forever wasn’t inspired by Margaret and Miles. I
hope
it wasn’t inspired by you and Lucas Flynn.” She dropped her gaze. “You’re thinking about Philip and Julianna, aren’t you?”

She gaped. “You
knew?”
He nodded. “How? For how long?”

“How did I know? By watching. Closely, I admit, but neither one of them is an outstanding actor. For how long? For years. Since Julianna was a teenager. The first time I saw them together when I came back from New York, I could see that their feelings had only gotten stronger.”

“I’m astonished,” Adrienne said faintly. “I didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t believe that You’re too perceptive to have missed it. You just shut out what you saw because Julianna was one of your best friends and Philip is married to your sister.”

“You really saw it twenty years ago?”

“I really did. At la Belle, where all weird things flourish. Ellen Kirkwood isn’t completely off her rocker for thinking there’s something definitely not right about that place. It seems to be a breeding ground for bad situations—violent situations, tragic situations, potentially destructive romantic situations.”

“She told me the hotel’s history one day, and I felt the same way you do about her not being as crazy as she sounds when she talks about the place.” Adrienne took another sip of wine she knew she didn’t need. “Do you think the relationship between Philip and Julianna led to Juli’s murder?”

Drew nodded. “Yes, Adrienne, I do. I’m not saying I think Philip killed her, although I’m not ruling that out because he could have snapped if she got too demanding or threatened to go public. I think Philip is capable of killing in the heat of the moment.” He paused. “Or, Julianna’s murder could have been the product of Philip’s or someone else’s careful planning, of someone waiting to get her in a secluded place where the killer had plenty of time to get away. Less time because you and Skye showed up unexpectedly. But whatever the circumstances, I think Julianna was murdered because she loved Philip Hamilton.”

“And the other murders?”

“By-products of the first. A terrible chain reaction to Julianna’s murder.”

“Oh, my God,” Adrienne moaned.

“You’re too smart not to have thought of this before.”

“I
had
thought of it,” Adrienne admitted, “but haphazardly, not as coolly and logically as you. And I didn’t know until tonight that Julianna was involved with Philip. I was like Vicky. I thought he was probably dallying with Margaret.”

“Or maybe that’s what Vicky wanted
you
to believe that’s what she thought.”

“That is what Vicky thought, Drew. What are you trying to do? Get me to say I believed Vicky was capable of killing her rival, Julianna?”

“Instead of saying you thought she was capable of killing her rival, Margaret?”

“I did
not
think—” she began heatedly, then broke off. Yes, when she’d seen how ravaged Vicky had looked the morning after Margaret’s body had been found, Adrienne had feared deep in her bones that Vicky, maybe having consumed far too much alcohol and too many pills, had done the unthinkable. Adrienne drew a deep breath, all of her defensiveness crumbling under the weight of exhaustion, and let her head drop onto Drew’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I think anymore and I’m getting a helluva headache.”

“No wonder.” Drew’s right hand came up and he began massaging her neck. “This is where your tension headaches start They always have.”

“I give up. You
do
know me well. And what you’re doing feels wonderful.”

Adrienne sipped more wine. Drew rubbed her tight neck muscles with exactly the right amount of pressure. From the CD player, Don Henley sang “Taking You Home,” about the love he’d found that was like nothing he’d ever known before. Adrienne lost herself in the lyrics, drifting along with Don’s words and Drew’s gentle and familiar touch. With a start she realized that for the first time in days—maybe even years—she felt warm and secure and, incredibly,
loved.

Her head jerked up. “What’s wrong?” Drew asked huskily, his breath warm on her cheek, his depthless dark eyes probing hers. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t trust her own voice. As if understanding what she wouldn’t make herself say, he gave her the old, intimate smile she knew so well and gently placed his hands on either side of her face and drew it closer to his own. “Don’t worry, Adrienne,” he murmured. “We’re together and everything is going to be all right. I’m going to make it all right. You’ll see. So just relax for tonight, my darling. Pretend we’re the only two people in the world.”

And with a sigh, she did.

“Adrienne? Adrienne! Are you all right in there? Adrienne, I swear, if you’re dead—”

Adrienne’s consciousness rose, broke water, then slid into the dark, quiet depths again until the strident voice refused to let it float in peace and summoned her back to the bright colors, harsh lights, and sharp edges of the waking world. Adrienne blinked, stretched, coughed, then finally realized that Kit was pounding for all she was worth on Adrienne’s big picture window right behind the couch.

“If you’re asleep, wake
up”
Kit shouted. “Dear God,
please
just be asleep. Don’t be dead, Adrienne. Don’t you
dare
be dead!”

Adrienne opened her eyes wide, looked over at Drew, whose head moved although his eyes were still closed, then she lifted her head and glanced down at the afghan covering their naked bodies. Out of reflex, she pulled it higher, although nothing but their shoulders were exposed.

The draperies had caught on the back of the couch, leaving them open at least an inch. Squinting, she could see Kit outside trampling a marigold bed as she bent and stooped and knelt, trying to peer through the crack in the draperies. When Kit saw Adrienne move, she let out a whoop of joy and smacked her hands against the glass. Adrienne groaned. Then slowly, every muscle and joint rebelling, she rolled off the couch and began scrambling for her clothes. She finally made it to the front door, fumbled with the lock and dead bolt, then opened it to a dazzling blaze of morning light.

Adrienne immediately shut her eyes against the brightness as Kit pulled her forward and closed strong arms around her. “God, Adrienne, why didn’t you answer your phone? You just go around getting shot at, run home, and unplug the phone!”

“I didn’t unplug the phone.” Adrienne’s tongue felt too big for her mouth. “Besides, I have a cell phone.”

“Two phones, no answer.” Kit stepped inside and closed the door behind her, mercifully shutting out the blinding morning light. Adrienne glanced at her through slitted eyes. Kit’s short, dark hair looked as if she’d run a damp comb through it, not put it through the ritual washing and curling-iron routine, and her eyes were bloodshot from sleep deprivation. She wore sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt, her pale skin had a grayish cast, and a narrow scratch snaked its way across her forehead. “I have been worried
sick
about you.”

“I’m sorry. You have no idea—”

“You’re right.” Kit suddenly sounded angry. “I have no idea because you wouldn’t bother to let me or anyone else know you were all right.” She glanced over at Drew, floundering on the couch like some dazed creature on unfamiliar territory. “Well, no wonder you didn’t want to bother answering the phone.”

“Kit, I was not avoiding the phone,” Adrienne returned irritably. Then she had a horrible thought. What if Drew stood up. He wore nothing under the afghan. “Coffee!” she nearly shouted. “I must have coffee! Come into the kitchen with me.”

Kit had begun to grin. She turned to the living room and called, “Drew, stop struggling with that afghan. You look like you’re in pain. Coffee is coming up.”

“Thank God,” he groaned as the two women disappeared into the kitchen.

Adrienne reached for the coffee bin and Kit sat down at the kitchen table. “Before you start firing more questions at me,” Adrienne said, “tell me to what I owe this frantic morning visit, flatteringly loud joy over discovering that I’m not dead, and fury that I didn’t answer a phone that never rang.”