Finding Laura Page 9

  Growing gradually more thoughtful and less shaken, Josie undressed again and went into her bathroom to take a shower. Her movements were automatic, her thoughts wholly occupied with Alex. Finally, as she was drying her hair, she toyed with the idea that he had said what he had because he had not wanted her to spend the night in his bed—whatever he said. Was that possible? He had asked her numerous times to spend the night in his bed, but he’d never protested when she had refused—until tonight. Yet when she had given in and agreed, he had almost immediately begun taunting her.

  Why?

  Josie put on a nightgown and robe, chosen without thought from her dresser drawer, and when she looked down at herself she had to wonder yet again if she was, in fact, becoming Amelia. The gown was black, high-necked, long-sleeved, and not in the least sexy, the robe a dark and dull gray. Did she feel the need to mourn Jeremy even in her sleep? Or was this some kind of symbolic apology to her dead husband after she came from the bed of another man?

  She looked at the silver-framed picture on her dresser that showed a darkly handsome, smiling man, and for the first time, she wanted to turn it facedown.

  “Damn you,” she said softly.

  There was, of course, no response, and Josie paced around her bedroom for some time trying to sort through her tangled emotions. In the end all she knew was that she wouldn’t sleep at all if she didn’t go back to Alex and at least try to find out why he had behaved that way.

  She opened her bedroom door very quietly and began to slip out into the hallway, then froze. She and Alex shared the second floor of this wing of the house—or had—with Peter and Kerry, who had separate bedrooms, and with Daniel. As Josie looked down the hallway, she saw Alex come out of the bedroom that had been Peter’s. He was fully dressed, appeared to be carrying something clenched in his right hand, and looked a bit grim.

  Instead of going to his own bedroom, Alex continued on to the end of the long hallway and knocked lightly on Daniel’s door. It was opened almost immediately, with Daniel also fully dressed and wide awake despite the lateness of the hour.

  They were too far away for Josie to hear what was said, but the low conversation went on for some time, with Alex opening his hand at one point to show Daniel whatever it was he held. Finally, Daniel nodded and drew back into his own room, and when Alex started to turn, Josie jerked back into her own bedroom.

  She heard Daniel’s door close quietly, then another door a few moments later, and when she looked, the hallway was empty.

  With all thoughts of going to Alex pushed aside now, Josie softly closed her own door and went to sit on her bed. Her earlier uneasiness had returned, and now it was stronger. Much stronger.

  What was going on?

  • • •

  “HOW MANY PRELIMINARY sketches will you do?” Amelia asked.

  Laura looked up from the first tentative strokes of her charcoal pencil and smiled. “As many as it takes. I did warn you.”

  Amelia smiled. “So you did. Don’t worry, child; I’m perfectly willing to sit for you as long and as often as you require. If I may talk, that is. If not, we may have a problem.”

  “Talking is fine,” Laura told her. “In fact, it may help me. Doing a portrait is capturing a personality, and that isn’t accomplished by the eyes alone.”

  “You do know how to go about it,” Amelia said in satisfaction. “I knew you would.”

  “Let’s reserve judgment on that until we see the results,” Laura suggested ruefully, not at all sure of herself.

  It was late Monday morning, and she and Amelia were in the conservatory at the rear of the house, which was flooded with light and vibrant with lush green plants and potted flowers. Amelia had begun to show her the house, but they had barely covered the ground floor when they’d reached the conservatory, and Laura had suggested they stop here for a while so she could sketch.

  She had made the suggestion for more than one reason. Though Amelia didn’t act frail, the old lady quite likely was, and Laura thought a short rest could do no harm. And the house was so huge that Laura felt quite overwhelmed; she needed a bit of time herself before going on. And lastly, the background this room provided, so luxuriant and vivid, was a wonderful contrast to Amelia’s black and silver coolness.

  She sat as Laura had requested in a fan-backed wicker chair, while Laura sat at a slight angle in another wicker chair. Requesting no particular pose—“just try to relax”—Laura had ended with a subject who sat almost rigidly upright with hands folded in her lap.

  Laura took what she was given and began sketching with a bit more confidence, listening with half her attention as Amelia talked on.

  “This room would probably be a good one in which to work when you finally begin the actual portrait, Laura. Plenty of light. Though I don’t think this background—”

  “We’ll decide on a final background before the portrait’s begun, Amelia. But I want to sketch you in several different places.”

  “Probably wise,” Amelia decided. “By the way, you’ll meet a few more of the family today at lunch. Alex, who is a cousin of mine, is at the law office, of course; he’ll be taking over as our family lawyer, and so he works in the city most days. And Anne—my granddaughter—took it into her head to go shopping today. But you’ll meet my daughter-in-law, Madeline. And, of course, Peter’s wife, Kerry.”

  Laura glanced over the top of the sketchpad to see her subject smiling pleasantly, and wished she could capture in charcoal or oil that bland tone of voice that seemed so odd under the circumstances. If it was a part of Amelia’s personality, then it was certainly a fascinating part—if a little eerie.

  “I want you to make yourself at home here, Laura,” Amelia went on. “When we aren’t working on the portrait, I hope you’ll feel free to wander around and really get a feeling for the house and gardens. I’ve lived here for sixty years, so this house is me. I’ve put my mark on it, from the attic to the cellar. This house will tell you much about who I am.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Laura murmured, using a thumb to gently smudge the line defining Amelia’s cheekbone.

  Amelia kept talking, musing about the time she had spent in this house, the parties held here in years past, the detailed planning of the gardens. She talked quietly, almost gently, seldom requiring a response from Laura, and Laura became so absorbed in her work that she looked up with a start when Amelia chuckled and asked her if she realized they had been here for two hours.

  “I’m sorry—” Laura began.

  “It’s quite all right, child, I’m fine. But I believe I’ll go and make sure lunch is almost ready, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course. I think I’ll stay here and tinker with this a bit.”

  Amelia rose gracefully as if she had not spent two hours sitting in the same position. There was no cane in evidence today. “May I see the sketch?” she asked.

  Laura hesitated. “If you don’t mind, Amelia, I’d rather wait until I’ve made another sketch or two. Give me time to get the feel of this, if you will.”

  With a smile, Amelia said, “Certainly, child. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.” She almost glided from the room.

  Left alone, Laura studied her sketch with a frown. It was okay, she thought. Not great, but not bad. She tinkered a bit, adding shading here and there and trying to get those dark eyes right, then finally closed the sketchpad with a sigh. Sketches weren’t perfect. They weren’t supposed to be. They were preliminary work designed to familiarize an artist with the subject.

  She gazed toward the rear of the conservatory and the atrium doors that opened out onto a veranda above the gardens, not really seeing anything. She had tried not to think too much about anything since arriving here, concentrating on Amelia and the commission. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the odd stillness of this huge house, the sense of tension she felt here.

  It felt almost empty, this house, an impression reinforced by the fact that she had seen only Amelia since arriving here. Amelia ha
d even opened the front door to her, and though she had said that the cook/housekeeper was working in the kitchen, and that a couple of maids who came daily were upstairs cleaning, there was no sound to betray any of them.

  Amelia hadn’t mentioned Daniel. Was he here? Did a man who held the financial reins of a vast family business have to “go into the city” to work on weekdays, or was the big desk in the study meant for him? He lived here most of the time, Laura believed, though he made frequent trips out of Atlanta on business and sometimes stayed away for weeks or months.

  Was he here?

  Of course, Laura’s information was culled almost entirely from Cassidy and her tabloid sources, and there was some doubt as to its accuracy. He was single, that much seemed certain, and there had been no mention of a particular lady friend. He was thirty-two, though he looked older. A financial genius, it was said. A hard man, it was said.

  Was he here?

  “Already hard at work?”

  His deep voice came so suddenly upon the heels of her wistful musings that Laura jerked and looked up at him with wide eyes. He was standing no more than a few feet away, moving on panther feet she hadn’t heard, and he was dressed less formally than she’d last seen him, in dark slacks and a white shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled carelessly back over his forearms.

  He was … more than she remembered, though that hardly seemed possible. He was bigger, more powerful-looking, a more intense jolt to her senses. She felt oddly light-headed, looking at him, as if she had lurched too suddenly to her feet. It was a sensation that was both familiar and strange, like the echo of something she had felt at some other, long-ago point of her life.

  Realizing he was waiting for a response, she got a grip on herself. “Why not? Amelia wants her portrait.”

  He slid his hands into his pockets and nodded slightly. “So she does. And you want to find out if you’re a real artist. What’s the verdict so far?”

  “It’s too early to tell. I’ve only done one sketch.” Try as she might, she couldn’t read what lay behind the pale sheen of his eyes, and that hard face gave away nothing of his thoughts. Did he still believe she had been his brother’s mistress?

  “Have you been bothered any more by the press?” he asked.

  Laura shrugged. “Not very much, no. Or the police. Try as they will, they can’t connect me to your brother before the day he was killed.”

  Daniel smiled slightly. “Still protesting your innocence to me, Laura?”

  She hugged the sketchpad to her breasts, wishing it were a shield. “I don’t like knowing that you don’t believe me. Especially now. I’ll be spending so much time here, under your roof—”

  “It’s Amelia’s roof,” he interrupted. “As long as she lives, this house is Amelia’s. So why does my opinion matter?”

  She stared at him, baffled by what she felt, by the longing to go to him now with the pure and simple attraction of iron filings to a magnet. Yet she was wary of him, not afraid but apprehensive and uneasy, sensing once more an intensity she couldn’t define lurking just below his calm surface. When he showed so little, how could she possibly know what it was he felt?

  “Laura? Why does my opinion matter?” he asked very softly.

  “Because it matters,” she whispered.

  “Why? Why do you care what I think?”

  She felt her heart beating. It was beating very hard, because she could feel it throughout her body, in every limb and under every square inch of her flesh. And she could have sworn she could hear it as well, thumping through the wall of her chest, through her breasts, against the sketchpad she held so tightly.

  His eyes had changed. There was warmth there, heat, shimmering like molten silver. It was desire. No, more than that, far more. It was the same longing she felt, the same aching need, something so powerful it was essential to his very being. It was alive in him as it was in her, struggling to escape, to find satisfaction. It called to her like a siren song.

  Laura had no idea what she might have said or done if Amelia had not come back into the conservatory just then. But she did come back, her brisk voice cutting through a silence that had become profound.

  “You have a phone call, Daniel. Laura, lunch is ready.”

  Laura looked at her, blinking as though she had just awakened from a deep sleep. Then she looked back at Daniel, and his eyes were enigmatic once more. Or have they always been? Am I imagining what I want to see?

  “Thank you, Amelia,” he said politely. “May I join you and Laura for lunch?”

  “Of course.” She was equally polite.

  “Then I’ll see you both shortly.” He turned and went into the house, moving easily for a big man, gracefully.

  Laura couldn’t stop watching him until he was lost to sight.

  “Ready for lunch?” Amelia asked brightly.

  Still holding her sketchpad to her breasts, Laura slowly got to her feet. Her whole body was aching, and not because of sitting for so long. She moved to meet Amelia, not really conscious of the other woman until thin fingers gripped her arm tightly.

  “Child—I have to warn you.”

  Laura stopped and looked down into worried brown eyes. “Warn me? About what?”

  Amelia glanced around nervously, then lowered her voice until it was hardly more than a whisper. “Be careful of Daniel. He’s a dangerous man, Laura. He’s a very dangerous man.” She released Laura’s arm and quickly moved toward the house, almost scurrying as though she were panicked.

  Laura stared after her, chilled.

  Chapter 5

  She caught up with Amelia just as the old lady went into a parlor down a hallway from the conservatory, but as desperately as she wanted to, Laura was unable to press Amelia on the subject of Daniel for the moment. The parlor was occupied.

  “Laura,” Amelia said, bright and seemingly untroubled once again, “I’d like you to meet Kerry, Peter’s wife. This is Laura Sutherland, Kerry.”

  Kerry Kilbourne came as a total shock to Laura, and quite effectively distracted her from confused thoughts about Daniel. Kerry was young, for one thing, probably no more than twenty-three or twenty-four. But her age wasn’t the real shock. Her appearance was. In most any eyes she would have been seen as plain at best, with a thin, pale face and indeterminate features. Her hair was by far her best feature, thick, shining, and the lovely shade of creamy gold that could never come out of a bottle; she wore it simply, pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with a dark ribbon. She was about Laura’s height, but carried too little weight, and her angular body appeared positively bony in an ill-fitting dark blouse and too long skirt.

  Unwarned but innately sensitive, Laura managed not to wince when Kerry turned her head toward the guest, revealing the left side of her face. It was badly scarred. From just under her eye all the way down to at least the collar of her blouse, her pale flesh was puckered and furrowed in what must have been the result of some kind of terrible burn.

  Both her eye and her mouth were undamaged, and when she offered Laura a tentative smile, the scarred half of her face seemed to writhe and darken, as if mocking the gesture. “How do you do,” she said softly, her polite tone that of a child with manners drummed into her.

  To the courteous greeting, Laura could only reply, “Fine, thank you, Mrs. Kilbourne. I—I’m so sorry about your husband.”

  Kerry’s smile was unutterably gentle, and there was nothing in her hazel eyes to hint at her thoughts or emotions about Laura’s presence here, or even the general strain she had to be feeling. “Thank you.”

  “There are too many Mrs. Kilbournes in this house, Laura,” Amelia said in a decided tone. “We’ll be less confused if you use everyone’s Christian name.”

  Laura saw an almost imperceptible nod from Kerry, and said, “All right, Amelia, I’ll do that.”

  “Fine. Kerry, where’s Madeline?”

  “I haven’t seen her, Amelia.”

  “Anne?”

  “No. I suppose she’
s still out shopping.”

  Amelia was obviously displeased, but all she said was, “Well, we’ll start without them then. This way, Laura.”

  Kerry moved with striking grace, her angular body seeming to flow and take on an almost sensual presence, and as Laura followed the younger woman and Amelia from the parlor, she had to wonder if fate had a sense of justice or merely cruelty to attempt to balance ugliness with traces of beauty.

  She also had to wonder at the decidedly odd couple Kerry and Peter had been. They couldn’t have been married more than a few years, and since it seemed certain that Peter had been in a motel room with another woman the night he died, he had clearly not been faithful to his young wife. Why had he married her? Had he, in his own way, loved her? Pitied her?

  And what about Kerry? Married to an incredibly handsome and charming philanderer, what had her life been like?

  Laura couldn’t help remembering Cassidy’s merry recitation of tabloid gossip. “I haven’t even mentioned Peter’s wife Kerry. Don’t you want to hear about her and the chauffeur?”

  Somehow, Laura doubted that this sweetly smiling, damaged young woman was playing footsie with the family chauffeur, but one never knew, after all. Perhaps she had found a lover when her husband’s attention had wandered. Perhaps theirs had been a marriage based on the understanding that each was free to find pleasure elsewhere, or perhaps they had married for purely businesslike reasons and emotion hadn’t entered into it.

  Laura told herself that no outsider could possibly know what brought two people together, and that she was being unfair in trying to understand Kerry and Peter’s marriage when she knew so very little about them both. But it was yet another odd note in this situation, and there was no way she could keep herself from speculating.

  That speculation was cast aside, however, when they reached the formal dining room to find Daniel there. Either his telephone call hadn’t required more than a minute or two of his time, or else he had considered being here more important; Laura didn’t know which it was, but would have bet the latter, if only because she had the idea nothing went on in this house without his awareness and attention.