The House On Willow Street (58 page)

Redmond wouldn’t like it here. He only liked cities. Anything rural made him nervous; reminded him too much of his roots. Carmen grinned as she let herself into her room. She knew that Redmond wasn’t really Portuguese nobility, but hey, everyone had their little secrets, she thought with a grin, even her employer. There were plenty of secrets in Avalon, she was certain of that.

Redmond had done some amazing digging on the Richardsons. His job had been made easier by the fact that there were plenty of people who hated Antoinette Richardson—
hated
her. People who’d been snubbed by her, staff who’d been underpaid by her: the list was endless. It was going to be his best book yet.

With so much good material already, she didn’t know why Redmond was so keen on getting this particular angle to the story. Sure, Suki Power was interesting in her own right and Carmen would have chewed off her leg without anesthetic to find out what had gone on during the years Suki lived with Jethro from TradeWind, but there was no point. Anyone who printed rumors involving Jethro got sued; the guy was a multimillionaire, incredibly well connected, and he had libel lawyers on standby 24/7. Redmond wouldn’t like that. Didn’t matter if they struck gold, any stories involving Jethro would have to stay out of the book. And the Jethro years aside, there didn’t seem to be anything else to uncover about Suki. Sure, there had been talk about a few tempestuous years with Kyle Junior and Suki barely talking to each other, but nothing to back it up. Nothing but a little gossip.

Sometimes a little gossip made for the most amazing chapter in a book, she’d learned that from Redmond. But her instinct told her that wasn’t the case here. Yes, Suki Power had thrown her out of her house, but she hadn’t looked frightened. If anything, she’d looked contemptuous. It wasn’t
the first time Carmen had come across that look, and she hated it. One day she’d get away from Redmond and she’d be free to write her own books—and they wouldn’t be smutty biographies either. Smut paid the rent, more than paid the rent, but she wanted to write something else, maybe a lucrative gig like Suki had: something noble, she decided. Something her mother would be proud of, instead of saying: “Why, Carmen, why do you write this stuff? Is this what you went to college for?”

In the meantime, she had an assignment to complete.

Tess Power owned an antique shop called Something Old. That was where Carmen was going. She’d changed out of her travel clothes into her interviewing clothes, which were always formal, and thrown a heavy coat on top. It was cold out here. Armed with her digital recorder, notebook and a capacious bag in case she found anything incriminating that she could appropriate, Carmen headed off to find Something Old.

None of the cabdrivers wanted to take her. “It’s only up the hill love, about five minutes’ walk, wouldn’t be worth the fare to drive you up there.”

“I thought cabdrivers were supposed to take you wherever you wanted to go whenever you wanted to go,” yelled Carmen in fury.

“Ha, maybe in New York, love, but not here,” said one guy, and rolled his window up with a snap.

She trudged up the hill and then she saw it, pretty sign in scroll lettering and hanging on an iron bar:
Something Old.
Cute, olde worlde.

There was a little hallway inside the street door and to one side there was some sort of dress shop; older women’s stuff, nothing cool, Carmen decided from her brief look in, nothing fashionable whatsoever. On the other side was the
antique shop. The door was shut . . . no, on closer inspection, she realized it was ajar. She was standing in the hallway, listening for voices, when a dog began to growl. Damn dogs, they always figured out when you were snooping around.

“Hey, anyone at home,” she said, knocking on the door and then letting herself in. She only hoped that the dog wasn’t going to savage her.

There were four people in the room: a teenage boy; a tall, very good-looking guy—late forties, and rich—that was for sure, Carmen could spot rich ones a mile away—and then a woman with blonde hair cut in a fashionable, short style. She was tall, stunning-looking. Definitely Suki’s sister, but different, sort of finer, more elegant. And there was Suki herself, looking glamorous and self-assured. Damn.

“Hi,” said Carmen, in her best syrupy voice, “I’m Carmen LeMonte, I work for Redmond Suarez and I’m looking for Tess Power—I assume that’s you,” she said, pointing her finger at Tess, completely ignoring Suki. “I’m trying to find out if the information I’ve got is true.” The digital recorder in her pocket was on. It was set to record anything within radius of her pocket and was very, very sensitive.

“And what exactly is this information you have?” said the man, and he looked menacing now. Yes, definitely menacing.

Beside the woman was the other source of Carmen’s problem: some lean houndy thing, and it was snarling at her, teeth bared. Looking at her with nearly as much naked dislike was Suki.

“That’s the bitch who doorstepped me back home looking for information!” she hissed.

Speed was of the essence, Carmen decided. You really only got one chance to ask these incredibly tough questions, and when everyone was so hostile, you might as well go in with it
straight away. Suki wasn’t going to give anything away—Carmen had to try to shock some information out of the sister.

“We understand that Suki Power Richardson had a facade of a marriage with Kyle Junior—but the word is that she was very close to his father, Kyle Senior, and that Antoinette Richardson ran her out of the family as a result. We know she came to stay here afterward.”

It was a wild allegation, but often it was a case of the wilder the better when it came to rooting out a few decent facts. Anxious to defend themselves against the allegation, innocent people had a tendency to get flustered and divulge a lot more of the truth than they otherwise would have in an effort to point out how you’d got it all wrong.

Tess was rooted to the spot. She had a hand on Silkie’s collar because for the first time in her entire life, the gentle little whippet looked as if she might actually pounce on someone.

Cashel moved forward until he was right up close to the woman.

“I know you’re recording us,” he said. “One moment.” He found his mobile phone and clicked on its recording mechanism.

“Okay, so now we’re all recording. My name is Cashel Reilly and my company is C. Reilly Enterprises Worldwide.”

“Oh,” Carmen said, feeling a little shiver of doubt. She liked to be the only one in the room recording the conversation: it upped the stakes considerably when anyone else recorded too.

“My lawyers in New York, Steinberg & Retzen, are in the process of taking out an injunction against Mr. Suarez or his agents harassing any member of the Power family.”

Carmen winced. Steinberg & Retzen were dangerous—more than dangerous. They had built a fearsome reputation
for securing record-breaking damages in libel and defamation cases. And they always, always won.

“So I suggest you abandon this particular line of inquiry or else it could prove very expensive indeed for your employer. I’m sure Redmond Suarez won’t want to risk ending up back in Puerto Rico without a dollar to his name.”

Carmen was used to looking impassive: it was part of her job. Redmond had drilled it into her that she had to learn to hide her emotions, but not this time. She knew she’d gone white. She managed a shrug.

“Of course, I understand. Sometimes, leads turn out to be false. People make up stuff. Sorry for bothering you all.” She picked up her bag and with a brittle smile she was gone.

“Oh my God,” said Tess, and sat down on a packing box. She was shaking. “I can’t believe that happened.”

“You were brilliant,” said Zach. “I haven’t a clue what was going on, but it looked good.”

“Thank you,” said Cashel, making sure the door was firmly shut. He was watching Carmen hurrying down the street, talking on her mobile. Redmond Suarez was not going to enjoy that phone call one bit.

“How did you know to say those things about the biographer?” Tess said.

“Suki phoned me and asked for help. The Richardsons had hung her out to dry, so I got my lawyers on to it.”

Silkie was whining and Zach excused himself to walk her back home.

“C’mon,” said Suki, putting an arm around Zach, “I’ll come too. This store is cold, Tess, you need some heating in it.”

Then it was just the two of them. Cashel was looking at Tess. She was reeling from all the revelations, not least that Suki had reached out to Cashel.

But suddenly she was aware that she was standing alone with Cashel Reilly, who’d been in her mind so much lately. Would it be worth saying all the things she should have said years ago?

She glanced at him and his face was stony.

No, she thought. The time for talking had passed a long time ago.

“Thank you, Cashel,” she said stiffly. “And about this—” She held up the necklace. “I can have it checked out, but I’m sure it’s yours.”

“No,” he said. “The contents of the house that were sold all those years ago were listed. This wasn’t on the list, it’s definitely yours.”

He was waiting for something, anything from her, but she was deliberately not looking at him anymore.

It was as clear in her mind as if it had happened yesterday, not years before. It had been when Suki was home from America, filled with angst and anxiety over what had happened. “They’re a nightmare, those people, a bloody nightmare,” Suki had raged, striding up and down the old house’s library, creating a breeze as she went.

Even now, Tess felt sorry that she hadn’t truly appreciated what Suki was going through. Instead she’d felt angry that all Suki could think about was herself and not about their father, who lay upstairs in bed—a cold bedroom, at that—wheezing. He should be in hospital, she was convinced of it. Pneumonia couldn’t be properly treated at home, but he insisted he was fine.

“You can take the stiff-upper-lip thing too far, Dad,” Tess had said. “Please let me bring you to hospital.”

Nothing, however, could persuade him to budge. He insisted on staying in his own bed.

And now Suki was there, almost screaming the house down, talking about that bitch Antoinette but refusing to tell Tess why.

Suki’s eyes had blazed with fury. “I don’t understand women like that; they’re prepared to put up with anything, as long as they stay Mrs. So-and-So. The dignity of being the wife. Well, I’m not going to stay and be Kyle Junior’s wife anymore, there’s no dignity in that. It’s all over.”

“Suki, if I knew what you were talking about, I could help, but right now, my priority is Dad. I know you’re upset about Antoinette, I know she drives you mad, but have you any idea how sick Dad is? And we’re so broke the house is going to have to go. The bank won’t give us any more time.”

“Oh for God’s sake, sell the bloody thing,” Suki had snapped, irritated. “I need some support here.”

“And so do I,” Tess had shouted back at her.

“Fine, I’ll go down to the village, see if there’s anyone there who’s ready to listen to my story,” Suki snarled and marched out, slamming the door behind her.

Tess was never entirely sure what had been said between Suki and Cashel that evening. Suki had called around to his mother’s first, knowing he was home, thinking he might take her for a drink. And somehow, Suki’s story of how Tess wouldn’t support her and was instead only wrapped up with life here in Avalon, had fed a fire in Cashel, always a passionate creature, and he’d come to the house to give her an ultimatum. He had saved enough for plane tickets for them both, for their big adventure.

“There’s no life for us here, Tess. We’re young, let’s get away from this town and start a new life,” he’d pleaded.

London was where it was at. London was where people like Cashel could make money. She’d promised to come with
him. He loved Tess. He wanted to marry her, but she needed to choose.

“Cashel, I can’t go yet,” Tess had said. “Let’s wait another couple of months, till Dad’s better and maybe the bank will change their minds. Please, a few months, that’s all.”

“You keep saying that,” he’d answered angrily. “Is this a game to you, Tess? Are you stringing me along?”

Unlike Suki, with her white-hot heat, Tess never lost her temper: she was too like her father for that.

But that night, she lost it: “Don’t you dare accuse me of being that sort of girl!” she’d hissed.

“You need to choose between me and bloody Avalon and your father,” he’d shouted over his shoulder as he stormed out.