The Butler's Daughter (17 page)

“No harm done, really.” Juliana smiled at Parrish, who'd dropped the slice of honeydew melon he was using as an airplane and was studiously ignoring her. “I didn't know it was you in Hunter's room.”

Parrish looked at his mother, his brow furrowed. “Did the monster scare the aunt lady, too?”

“Yes, that's why I'm wearing your uncle's bathrobe.”

Brook tapped her son on the tip of his freckled nose. “Her name's Juliana.”

“There's no such thing as monsters,” Mackensie said with the bored arrogant tone of an eight-year-old who knows everything. With his dark good looks and competitive streak, Juliana had no doubt Mackensie would be running the family business one day and making money hand over fist.

Smothering a grin, Juliana slid Cort into his highchair and put a couple of toys on the tray to amuse him. Lars brought in Cort's antibiotics and a bottle, but the baby was too engrossed in Mackensie's and Parrish's antics with their banana-chocolate-chip pancakes to drink it. Juliana decided to start with coffee and work up to an appetite.

Brook handed Mackensie his homework. “It looks great. Finish your breakfast. The chopper leaves in fifteen minutes and you still need to brush your teeth. Prudy will take you in today. I'm taking the morning off to spend with Juliana.”

Juliana met Brook's gaze over the rim of her coffee cup.

“If I'm not imposing,” Brook added.

“Not at all, I'd love it.” She had a feeling Hunter was going to be the topic of conversation, which suited her just fine.

Brook finished her coffee. “Let me get Mackensie off to
school. When you're ready, I'll give you a tour of the island.”

After Brook had hustled Mackensie upstairs to brush his teeth, Juliana tried again to give Cort his bottle.

Parrish sat in his chair eating his pancakes, a watchfulness in his brown eyes that reminded her of Hunter. Like his uncle, Parrish didn't trust easily.

Suddenly he hopped off his chair and tugged on the sleeve of her robe. “Aunt lady, did you make the monster go out the window?”

“What? Yes, sweetheart, I did,” she assured him, remembering what Lars had told her about Parrish's monsters.

Parrish nodded his head. “Good. He was a big one. I think he wanted the baby.”

 

I
N THE BASEMENT
, the killer's accomplice had found a hiding spot.

He'd ended up in the basement through a door beneath the main staircase and had wandered through the warren of stone tunnels until he'd found an unlocked storage room. Light from a small dirt-streaked window made it possible to make a pallet on the hard-packed gravel behind an old trunk using some drop cloths he'd found folded on a shelf.

He stared up at the brick ceiling.

He'd missed his chance last night. Juliana had almost caught him. But now he knew where the baby slept.

There'd be other chances. He just had to be patient.

Brook insisted they leave Cort and Parrish in the servants' capable hands for the duration of the tour. “I can't utter a coherent sentence when I'm watching Parrish. He's so curious. Last month he picked up a black rat snake and brought it to show me.” She put her hand over her heart. “Thank God they aren't poisonous! I let Lars take care of the snake.”

Juliana laughed as Brook shuddered. With every passing moment she liked her sister-in-law more.

They went out the main entrance and down the grand granite staircase Juliana remembered from her arrival. It was a beautiful late September morning. Sunshine spilled around them taking the chill out of the wind from the river, and a herring gull circled overhead. “I wanted to show you the front of the house in the daylight. It faces the main river channel. When my grandparents and my parents entertained, guests would arrive in their yachts at the dock and pass through the stone arch and stroll through the gardens up to the main entrance. There were lanterns in the trees and a string quartet. My mother loved garden parties.”

Juliana could imagine it all. “It must have been lovely.”

Brook's eyebrows arched. “It was an illusion and like all illusions it finally shattered.”

A chill passed over Juliana's spine at her words. Was her marriage to Hunter only an illusion?

Brook hooked her arm through Juliana's, taking her on a stone-walled path around the east wing of the house, past a terrace that was perfect for outdoor entertaining to the formal rose garden and symmetrically arranged flower gardens at the rear of the house. They stopped to admire the wood nymph fountain that was the centerpiece of the rose garden. “Did Hunter tell you about our mother?”

“Some. He mentioned her infidelities and that she committed suicide.”

“I'm surprised he told you that much. He keeps all that locked up along with the greenhouse and mother's room.”

Juliana's gaze was drawn to the greenhouse at the rear of the garden. Tucked behind two mature trees with vibrant purple foliage, the stone foundation and glass walls of the greenhouse were nearly obscured by vines. “Why does he keep the greenhouse locked?”

“That's where my mother entertained her lovers. It was her favorite place. No one ever questioned the time she spent there—except our butler. He'd convinced himself he was doing my father a favor by revealing mother's indiscretions.”

Juliana felt nauseated. The family butler had blackmailed Hunter's father! Little wonder Hunter had questioned her father's generous inheritance from Ross. He'd learned from bitter experience that even the most trusted servant might be capable of betrayal. Did Hunter think she would betray him? Was that why he kept holding her at arm's length?

Brook tucked her short dark hair behind her ears, her voice resigned. “It's also where she chose to die.”

“Oh, Brook, I'm so sorry. Hunter didn't tell me that.” She squeezed her sister-in-law's arm in sympathy. “My
mother died when I was twelve. I don't think missing them is something you ever get over.”

“Yes, well, it was a long time ago. We were children.” They retraced their steps to the fountain and took another path between a row of boxwood hedges and flower beds. “At least Hunter's opened the door to mother's room by marrying you.”

Juliana found herself blushing. “Yes, it's been opened and will be redecorated very soon.”

“Sooner than you think. Lars asked my advice about a decorator and I took the liberty of calling an old friend. She'll be here early this afternoon with paint and fabric samples. It's on me. Consider it a wedding present.”

Juliana stopped on the stone path. She and Brook hardly knew each other, but she hugged her tightly. After the last year of isolation in Cleveland, it felt wonderful to have a friend her age. Emotion choked her voice. “Thank you. I don't know what to say.”

With a laugh, Brook wiped a tear off her own cheek. “You're going to be good for my brother. Just don't let him push you away.”

Don't let him push you away!

Truer words were never spoken, cutting through the miasma of doubts that had been circling in Juliana's mind since she'd made the heartbreaking discovery that Hunter was fighting his desire for her with every ounce of determination in him. Her heart pounded unsteadily against her ribs.

He'd made love to her with such fierce unrestrained emotion that she couldn't let herself consider for an instant that it hadn't been genuine.

He needed her. His kisses and his touches gave him away. But he was so afraid of being betrayed, so afraid of completely trusting her and loving her—of being made a
fool of as his father had been—that he would deny that need existed.

And she'd allowed him to keep her at arm's length without a word of protest, just as she'd enabled her father's efforts to push her away after Michael's death. The fear that Hunter would banish her from Cort's life and that she would once again fail her father's expectations of her had pushed her into agreeing to Hunter's terms of their marriage.

Well, no more.

Finding the courage to express her anger to her father had been freeing, had released nineteen years worth of confusion and pain. Even if her father hadn't heard her, she'd put into words the outrage of a six-year-old who didn't understand why her father wouldn't hold her anymore when he read her a story. Or kiss her good-night.

She'd reached rock bottom in that regard. If her father recovered, and she prayed that he would, she was not going to spend one more moment chasing his affection. Nor was she going to spend the rest of her life being denied the physical comforts of her marriage.

Hunter deserved to be loved. To have the old hurts of his past healed.

Even at the risk of being banished from Cort's life, she had to tell him clearly, unequivocally, that she planned to spend their marriage showing him in thousands of different ways that she loved him and flaying his attempts to dismiss her. It was the only way she'd ever find out if their marriage had a chance of becoming real.

A gust of wind rippled through the trees and stirred a clump of hollyhocks, the flowers ruffling like ladies' party dresses at a ball. Lexi had waltzed into Ross's heart and his home never doubting she was his equal. Juliana thought it was high time she asked her own prince to dance.

She hooked her arm back through Brook's. “I love your brother and I have no intention of ever letting him go. Now, show me the guest cottages. Hunter is bringing a guest back with him today. He seems to be a bit behind schedule, though.”

They took a wide stone path that wound into a woods dense with pine and birch. “Yes, he warned me there would be extra security for a while, but of course, I don't know why. I'm taking the boys to New York for the weekend to see their fathers. All the live-in staff but Lars are off for the weekend. They leave at three and return Monday morning at seven.”

As they rounded a bend in the path a charming stone cottage with a slate roof came into view. Twin decorative stained-glass windows shaped as scallops bordered the carved oak door. A pot of pink geraniums stood on the front steps.

“This one's the Chelsea,” Brook said. “Windermere is farther down this path. The cottages are fully stocked and self-sufficient and the guests look after themselves. Hunter doesn't even allow staff in to clean until after the guests have departed, but I understand the reasons for his caution. He's protecting his clients as well as his identity.

“Many of the Clairmont's guests are repeat customers who seek out our hotels because of the extraordinary level of security we can provide. A guest at the Clairmont doesn't worry about the paparazzi or the crust of their breakfast toast being auctioned off on the Internet.”

“Then you won't think I'm being paranoid if I ask you to show me where the cave is? Hunter gave me directions but I'd feel better if I knew exactly where it is.”

“You're not being paranoid. You're being smart. Hunter's occupation isn't without risk. But then, life is one risk after another. The trick to surviving is being knowl
edgeable and prepared. I'll show you Windermere, then we'll head over to Rocky Point. It's on the other side of the island.”

“Good, and on the way, you can tell me about your ex-husbands. All three of them.”

Brook rolled her eyes. “That's a short story. Mackensie's father was the quintessential handsome, older man. I married him to escape my overbearing father only to discover that Howard didn't respect my needs any more than my father did. The second husband loved me for my money—which Hunter wouldn't let him have. And the third one, Parrish's father, well, let's just say I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me. With the help of a good therapist, I'm trying to move on with my life.”

“So, you're still in love with him?”

“Yes.” One word and it was said with the confidence of a determined woman. Brook flushed becomingly. “But you don't know Rand. There's little chance he'll ever forgive me for hurting him. Still, he did invite me to stay and have dinner with him on Friday when I drop off Parrish. That's a first.”

“Only dinner?”

“Yes, only dinner! But it may give us a chance to talk.” A wistful smile touched her face. “I'm hoping he's ready to listen.”

Juliana nodded knowingly. “Pack some lingerie just in case. A woman has to be prepared to take risks.”

 

A
FTER DELIVERING
N
ONNIE
into the hands of the state police and conferring with Investigator Bradshaw about the Younges' possible involvement in the murder, Hunter raced to the Collingwood estate with a security team and a state trooper.

Gord Nevins and Stacey Kerr appeared shaken by his
predawn arrival. The papery texture of their skin and the dark shadows beneath their eyes showed the strain they were living under.

“Is Goodhew…?” The household manager's question trailed off incomplete.

Hunter quickly reassured them that Goodhew was holding his own, but something had arisen in the investigation and the police felt it prudent Annette be moved to an undisclosed location.

Stacey glanced uncertainly at the state trooper and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Shall I wake her?”

“Not just yet. There were a couple of other matters we thought you could help us with. I understand that David and Sarah Younge sent a gift basket to Goodhew.”

“Yes,” Gord acknowledged. “We put it in his quarters, since we didn't know where to send it. I thought I might bring one of the books on tape with me for the weekend visit.”

“Trooper Jones would like to examine the basket. We'd also like to know if you have a record of who delivered it?”

“I believe so. If Trooper Jones will follow me, please.”

Hunter turned to Ms. Kerr as the trooper and the household manager left the room. “We'd also like a list of the floral deliveries made to the house and the funeral. Did you keep a record of which deliveries came from which shop?”

“Certainly. Cards occasionally get switched and this way we can double-check if there's any doubt before a thank-you card is sent out. The list is in my office. It'll take a few minutes for the photocopier to warm up.”

“Make two copies while you're at it.”

Hunter followed her through the house to the secretary's office where a mountain of sympathy cards piled high on a table, waited to be filed into boxes lined up on two library tables.

“What's this all about?” she asked as she switched on the photocopy machine.

“That's confidential, I'm afraid.”

She flushed. “But the police are getting closer to finding out who did this?”

“Who do you think did it, Ms. Kerr? You knew the Collingwoods. Lexi probably spoke more openly to you than anyone else in the household.”

She blinked at him, her eyes suddenly guarded. “I don't know. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt them—Lexi especially. She was such a gracious lady.”

“Not even Kendrick Dwyer? I understand Ross was pushing him to retire.”

“Is that fact or speculation?”

Hunter folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me. You're the one sleeping with him.”

She pressed her lips together and tapped a manicured fingernail on top of her desk. “How did you know?”

“Educated guess.”

“It was very brief. He's sicker than he's letting on. And no matter what you might think of me, I have no desire to be a rich widow.”

“What were you arguing about at the funeral?”

“He wanted to make sure I didn't tell the police about our involvement. He thought it would jeopardize the company's stability if it came out. He's going to try to keep his illness from becoming public as long as possible, then he's going to throw his support behind the person he felt Ross would have handpicked to succeed him.”

“And who would that be?”

Stacey selected a folder from her desk and moved to the photocopier. “David Younge.”

 

H
UNTER SENT THE TROOPER
back to Investigator Bradshaw with a copy of the floral delivery list and the gift basket,
hoping that David or Sarah Younge's fingerprints could be lifted off the contents and compared to the unidentified prints found on Juliana's purse. Or, that the Younges had made a stupid mistake and ordered the flowers which had concealed the bomb from the same florist who'd prepared their sympathy arrangement for the Collingwoods' funeral.

This could be the lead he'd been hoping for, though he still felt as if a piece of the puzzle was just beyond his grasp.

Annette's gratification at being taken to see Cort was obvious. As soon as they'd stepped outside the house, Hunter had pulled her aside and informed her they were going to see Cort.

“It's about time! Where is he? Who has him?”

“All your questions will be answered once we safely arrive at our destination,” he assured her. “For now, all you have to do is sit tight and act as if you're going away for a few days.”