Kitabı oku: «The Virgin Mistress», sayfa 3

“Whoever did this had to be nuts,” he said half to himself. “Joe’s not the kind to generate anger in people—he makes friends wherever he goes. I can’t believe anyone would hate him enough to try to kill him.”

“It does seem crazy,” Meredith agreed. “But there’s a lot of nuts walking around loose. And Joe is so easy-going that he thinks everyone is like him. But they’re not. Not everyone can let bygones be bygones. Joe always got along with the parents of the foster children we raised, but deep down inside, some of them had to resent the fact that they weren’t raising their own children. Who knows? Maybe one of them was the shooter.”

That was an option Austin hadn’t even considered. At this point, he couldn’t overlook anyone. Turning back to Meredith he pulled the guest list from the notebook he’d brought with him. “I’ll need to know which of the guests are from the foster families.”

Only too happy to direct suspicion away from herself, Patsy obligingly gave him the names.

In spite of that, however, she didn’t fool herself into thinking she’d cleared herself as a suspect. There were any number of family members, not to mention so-called friends, who had probably already told Austin that her marriage to Joe had deteriorated over the years. It was only a matter of time before he asked her why. She’d lie, of course, not that it would do her any good. With those emerald-green eyes of his, he could see through a lie in a split second, damn him. If he started asking her questions she couldn’t answer and really put the pressure on her and made her mad, God only knew what she’d say or do.

Her heart slamming against her ribs, she told herself she couldn’t let that happen. Because if she snapped and gave herself away, she’d lose the boys and she’d get locked up again. And while she might find a way to bear prison again, she couldn’t lose her boys. Not Joe and Teddy. They were hers, dammit. Hers! Joe, Jr. didn’t have a drop of Colton blood in him, and Teddy was a result of a hot quickie with Joe’s brother, Graham, in the guest bathroom during a dinner party. Granted, that had been a mistake—she never would have taken a chance on getting pregnant if she’d known Joe was sterile—but she couldn’t regret that now. They were her babies, and she wouldn’t risk losing them.

Talk! she told herself fiercely. Distract him. Do whatever you have to to keep his focus off you.

Before she could speak, the patio door opened behind them and they both turned in time to see Rebecca step out onto the patio.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rebecca said, startled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just on my way to the barn.”

“For a ride?” Pleased, Patsy thought things couldn’t have worked out better if she’d planned them herself. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you take Austin with you? It’s been years since he was here last, and he’s probably forgotten how beautiful it is.

“That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Austin?” Patsy continued smoothly, turning her attention to him before Rebecca could say a word. “I know you’re working, but everybody needs a break once in a while. It’ll do you good.”

Trapped, there wasn’t much the two of them could do except exchange polite looks. “Company would be nice,” Rebecca said.

“A ride would blow some of the cobwebs out of my head,” Austin added.

Hiding her contempt—how easily manipulated they were—Patsy shooed them toward the barn. “Then go on. Get out of here and enjoy yourselves.”

Left with no choice, Rebecca fell into step with Austin and they headed for the barn. For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them said a word. Rebecca had never felt so awkward in her life. “I’m sorry about that,” she said finally. “I know you didn’t really want to take time away from your work, but Meredith can be pretty insistent sometimes. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Actually,” he said honestly, “the only reason I hesitated was because I didn’t want to intrude on your ride. Don’t feel like you have to do this. I can go back to work if you want to be alone.”

“Oh, no!” How could he think that? “I’d like some company,” she said shyly as they entered the barn. “It was an awful day at school today, and I’d just like to forget everything and have some fun.”

His green eyes dancing, he said dryly, “I think I can manage that.” And before she could guess his intentions, he had his mount saddled and had stepped into the stirrups. “Race you!” he challenged, and was off like a shot, leaving her and her horse flatfooted.

“Hey!” Vaulting into the saddle, Rebecca sent her favorite mare bounding after him, and it didn’t take her long to catch him. Her smile wide and her eyes dancing, she bent low over her mare’s neck and headed for the beach. The race was on.

There was no finish line. With the wind whistling through their hair and the low rolling hills of the ranch flying past them, they rode neck-and-neck, broad smiles lighting their faces. And when they reached the beach and both pulled up by unspoken agreement, they were laughing.

Rebecca couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun, and that should have been enough to set off alarm bells in her head. Getting to know him better was a mistake. It would only deepen her feelings of loneliness when he returned to Portland. She knew that, accepted it, but she couldn’t worry about next week or next month. Not when the day had just turned wonderful. Loving the feel of the sun on her face and the wind in her hair, she wanted to laugh out loud with joy.

“That was great!” she said, grinning at him. “C’mon. I’ll show you my favorite spot on the whole ranch.”

Leading the way, she took him to a secluded rocky cove down on the beach. Years ago, Meredith had taken her to that same spot when she’d first come to the ranch to live. Overwhelmed—not only by the ranch, but by the Colton family and the foster children they’d welcomed into their home so easily—she’d been feeling very lost that day and Meredith had sensed it. So she’d taken her to the cove to show her her secret hideaway.

There’d been no other footprints but theirs that day, and Rebecca had loved it. The pounding of the surf against the shore and the cry of the gulls had given her a serenity she’d found nowhere else on earth, and to this day, whenever she was feeling low, she only had to close her eyes to feel the spray of the Pacific on her face and the damp sand under her feet.

Nothing, however, beat being there in person. Unable to resist the call of the pristine sand that had been washed clean by the waves, she dismounted and looked up with a smile when Austin joined her. “Isn’t it beautiful here? When I first came to live here, Meredith and I used to have picnics on the beach here all the time.”

Her tone was wistful—she could hear it in her voice—and she wasn’t surprised when Austin heard it, too. Frowning, he said, “Don’t you go on picnics now? You two seem so close.”

“We used to be,” she said. “I admired her so much. She was wonderful with the foster children, and I loved helping her with them. But after the accident, she didn’t have time for picnics. Her priorities changed.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “There were little changes at first. She became totally devoted to Joe Junior—then she had Teddy and was the same way with him. Later, she got wrapped up in her social schedule, and she just didn’t have time to do the things we used to do.”

She didn’t have time for me anymore, Rebecca added silently. And she didn’t know why. She just knew Meredith was different, and they weren’t as close as they’d once been. And the only explanation she had for it was the accident.

The thought saddened her, and the mood was somber as they returned to the house, where they found themselves guests at a small dinner party. Feeling underdressed in riding clothes, Rebecca felt her heart sink at the sight of a former congressman and a famous Hollywood producer who had joined the family in the courtyard for before-dinner drinks. Why, she wondered in frustration, did Meredith insist on inviting the entire world to dinner? When she’d first come to the ranch, one of the things she’d loved the most about living there had been the family suppers in the eat-in kitchen. They’d been homey and fun and intimate and given everyone a chance to catch up on each other’s day.

But those times were, unfortunately, long gone, and now it seemed like there were always outsiders around. Meals were much more formal and in the dining room. And Rebecca hated it. Given the chance, she would have used the excuse that she had homework to grade and left. But she’d had so much fun with Austin that she hated to see the evening end. And one look at his resigned expression and she knew he wasn’t any more thrilled than she at the idea of attending a dinner party. The least she could do was stick around and help him through it.

Fortunately, it didn’t turn out to be as bad as Rebecca had anticipated. The conversation shifted back and forth between politics and the movie industry, and the discussions on the future of both were lively and sometimes more than a little intense. But Joe was in his element, his blue eyes sparkling with interest, and for the first time since the shooting, he seemed like his old self. Rebecca could have sat there for hours, just listening to him talk.

Meredith, however, changed the entire mood with just a few carelessly chosen words. The meal was almost over—Inez was serving her fabulous praline cheesecake—when Meredith took advantage of a sudden lull in the conversation to turn her attention on Austin. “So, Austin,” she said brightly, “how is the investigation going now that you’ve had time to check out the guest list? You must have narrowed down some suspects.”

Just that easily, silence fell like a rock. For a moment, Austin didn’t say a word. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and he just looked at her. But everyone at the table was waiting for his answer, and he finally said quietly, “I can’t discuss that at this point. The investigation is ongoing, and I still have a lot of leads to follow up.”

“But what about suspects?” she pressed. “You must have some idea of who the shooter is by now. You’ve been talking to people all week.”

“This kind of case takes time to solve,” he retorted. “You don’t do it overnight.”

“But—”

“That’s enough, Meredith,” Joe growled. Glaring at her from the opposite end of the dining room table, he gave her a hard look that anyone who knew him well was familiar with. Without saying a word, he told her to shut up. Glancing at his guests, he smiled wryly. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t want to talk about violence at the dinner table. It doesn’t do a lot for the digestive system.”

Far from intimidated by his warning look, Patsy just barely resisted the urge to scream at him. How dare he correct her in front of guests! She could talk about anything she wanted to, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it!

“I would have thought you’d want to know who your enemies are,” she said coldly. “But if you want to live in a fairy tale and pretend everything is hunky-dory, go ahead. I know where you want to be buried.”

Urged on by that voice in her head that always seemed to get her in trouble, Patsy knew she may have gone too far, but she didn’t care. He could be such a jackass sometimes. She didn’t know what Meredith had ever seen in him. If he hadn’t been so damn rich, she, herself, would have walked away from him years ago. But she’d been alone and poor before, and rich was better—even if that meant she did have to put up with Joe Colton.

Not, she silently amended with a secret smile, that she might have to do that for much longer. Somebody else out there wanted him dead. They’d tried to kill him once. They were bound to try to do it again. And next time they just might succeed. Then she’d have all that lovely money to herself, and she’d never have to deal with Joe Colton again.

Three

The nightmare came out of the darkness like a thief in the night, grabbing her before she even thought to note the danger. Coming awake with a startled cry of horror, Louise Smith bolted up in bed, her brown eyes wide and unfocused, her heart slamming against her ribs. In her subconscious, vague, shadowy images rose up before her, terrifying her, and for a moment, she couldn’t even have said where she was. Then she blinked, and the neat feminine decor of her bedroom came into focus and she realized she was safe and sound in her modest little home in Jackson, Mississippi.

It was then that the tears started.

Suddenly cold all the way to the bone in spite of the fact that it was a warm summer night, Louise wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth in her bed. The nightmares had become more frequent over the course of the last few months—and more terrifying. She’d had them for years, ever since she’d woken up one morning at the St. James Clinic with no memory of who she was, but they’d never been so bad before. Every night for the past week, she’d hardly closed her eyes when she went to bed before the nightmares began. And they were always the same—a little girl crying out for her mommy in the dark. And she was the mommy the little girl cried out for.

A sob welled up from deep inside her, and she could no more hold it back than she could change the fact that she was Patsy Portman, a woman with a prison record and a history of mental disability, a woman who’d had a baby girl taken from her soon after her birth that was still, to this day, lost to her. Just thinking about that still made her cringe. What kind of monster was she?

When the hospital staff at the St. James Clinic had told her about her past, she was sure that there had to be some mistake. She wasn’t that kind of person. She couldn’t be! She might not remember who she was, but surely she would know if she’d killed a man! But then her doctor had shown her her prison record, and there was no denying that she was as amoral as she’d been told she was. Horrified, she’d vowed to change her life right then and there.

The first thing she’d done was return to Mississippi and her last known address, where she’d changed her name to Louise Smith so she could start her new life with a clean slate. But putting the past behind her hadn’t been that easy. She’d had no references to get a job, no education that she knew of, no skills. Finally she’d gotten a job at the University of Mississippi. She’d worked hard, and with time, she’d eventually risen through the ranks to become the head of administration services.

She was proud of that and all that she’d accomplished, but there were some things she couldn’t change regardless of how hard she tried. Her past was still lost to her. And then there were the nightmares that haunted her nights. Inexplicably, they’d first started nearly five years ago, and had never gone away. Losing weight and sleep, she’d finally sought out Dr. Martha Wilkes, a therapist who specialized in repressed memory, and for a while, she’d felt like she was making real progress. Then she’d started having migraines, and her nightmares had gotten progressively worse. Even with Martha’s continued help, she still couldn’t say what her dreams were about. She just knew she was scared to death, and she didn’t know why.

The dreams had to be related to her past—she and Martha both agreed on that. But what had she done that was so awful that she couldn’t face it? After all, she’d murdered a man, for heaven’s sake, and had a baby stolen from her arms. What could be more terrible than that? What had Patsy Portman done?

Scared, her heart aching with a hurt she couldn’t put a name to, she huddled under the covers and told herself whatever it was, she couldn’t keep running from it. With Martha’s help, she had to find a way to face and accept whatever was haunting her dreams. Because if she didn’t, it was going to slowly destroy her, and she was determined not to let that happen.

But when she lay back down and closed her eyes, the specter of her nightmare was right there beside her in the dark, towering over her like the devil himself. Her eyes flew open, and in the deep silence of the night, she would have sworn she could hear the thundering of her heart. With the covers pulled tight around her, she stared at the darkness. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

Rebecca woke with a smile on her face the next morning and didn’t have to ask herself who put it there. Austin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much with a man. He was just so easy to be around. There’d been no pressure like there was on a date, no expectations of anything romantic. They’d just gone riding like two friends who’d known each other forever, then had dinner with the family and a few guests. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

A kiss on the cheek wouldn’t have hurt, she thought with a smile, but then again, she’d accepted the fact that there wasn’t going to be any romance in her life. If friendship was all she could have with Austin, then she’d take it.

Happier than she’d been in a long time, she pulled on one of her favorite dresses, a white cotton sheath with an embroidered neckline, and stepped into flat white sandals. Feeling very feminine, she French-braided her hair in a single braid that hung down her back, then applied a minimum of makeup and a spritz of perfume. And when she looked in the mirror, she couldn’t stop smiling. She felt pretty this morning and it showed.

The glow of the morning stayed with her all the way to work and well into her first class. There must have been something in the air, because her students were all alert and eager, and everything seemed to flow as smooth as silk. Then there was a knock at her classroom door and she turned to find Mildred Henderson, an aide from the school office, hesitating at the threshold with a note from the principal.

Surprised, Rebecca took the note and arched a brow at the curtly written message instructing her to report to the office immediately. “Mr. Foster wants to see me now?” she asked Mildred. “During the middle of class?”

The elderly, grandmotherly woman nodded somberly. “I don’t know what happened, dear, but he seemed very upset. Run along now. I’ll stay with the class while you’re gone.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Shaken, Rebecca hurried down the hall to the office, worry eating at her stomach. Had the shooter gotten to Joe? Was that what this was about? Was he hurt? Dead?

The blood draining from her face, Rebecca gave a perfunctory knock at the principal’s door and hardly waited from him to respond before she barged inside. “Is something wrong with my family?”

Richard Foster knew all about the shooting at Joe’s birthday party—the story had been all over the newspapers and covered extensively on both the local and national news programs on TV—so he knew what she was really asking. “As far as I know, Joe Colton is fine, Ms. Powell,” he said stiffly. “You’ve been called here on school business.”

It wasn’t until he gave her a pointed look that Rebecca realized they weren’t alone. Standing to the right of Richard’s massive oak desk was a tall blond man who was glaring at her with intense dislike. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

She would have excused herself, but the principal stopped her in her tracks. “This is Mr. Bishop, Rebecca,” he said coldly, introducing her to the other man. “His son, Hughie, is in your fifth period class.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied. “I’ve talked to your wife several times at our parent-teacher conferences. It’s nice to meet you.”

She would have held out her hand, but nothing in Mr. Bishop’s hostile demeanor encouraged that kind of courtesy. When both men just glared at her, she looked at Richard Foster hesitantly. “I presume this is about Hughie. Is something wrong?”

“You tell us,” the principal retorted. “Did you take a slingshot away from Hughie yesterday?”

Until that moment, Rebecca had completely forgotten about it. “As a matter of fact, I did. It was a carved wooden gun, and he was threatening Tabitha Long with it. I took it away and put it in my desk. I know I should have turned it in to the office, Mr. Foster, but yesterday was so hectic, I forgot.”

Not the least impressed with her explanation, Hugh Bishop snapped, “Go get it. I want it back.”

Confiscated weapons were never returned to the students or their families. That was standard school policy, and Rebecca expected Richard to tell Mr. Bishop that. Instead, he just looked at her with steely blue eyes and said, “You heard the man. Go get it.”

Rebecca couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d slapped her. “But that’s against school policy—”

“When I want your advice on how to run this school, Ms. Powell, I’ll ask for it. In the meantime, I suggest you do as you’re told.”

If you value your job. The words weren’t spoken, but Rebecca heard them, nonetheless, and had never felt more like a chastised schoolgirl. And it hurt. She was a good teacher and she’d done the right thing by taking that gun away from Hughie. And Richard knew that. Aside from the fact that it was school policy, it was her duty as a teacher to take away anything from a student that could be used to hurt or intimidate someone. So why hadn’t he backed her up? Didn’t he realize that he could get in trouble with the school board for not carrying out his duty as a principal? What was going on here?

She wanted to ask, but he had that look on his face, the one that he always wore whenever he was thinking of his impending divorce, the one that she and the other teachers had learned to avoid like the plague. There was no point in arguing further.

“I’ll be right back,” she said stiffly, and turned and marched out of the office without saying another word.

Later, she didn’t know how she did it. She’d never been so humiliated in all her life, but she walked down the hall to her classroom with her head held high and even managed a smile for Mildred Henderson when she quietly stepped into the classroom to find her reading to the class. “If you could stay just a little longer, Mrs. Henderson, I’d appreciate it. The meeting with Mr. Foster isn’t quite over.”

“Of course,” the older woman replied easily. “Take as long as you need.”

Rebecca would have loved to make both men wait the rest of the afternoon, but she’d never blatantly defied an authority figure. And in spite of the fact that she considered Richard a friend, he was, first and foremost, her boss. Insubordination of any kind wasn’t tolerated, so she was left with no choice but to hurry back to the office once she retrieved the slingshot from her drawer.

Even then, she hadn’t moved fast enough for Hugh Bishop. The second she stepped into the office, he growled, “You took your time getting back here, didn’t you? Are you always this slow? No wonder Junior’s having trouble in school.”

Outraged, Rebecca almost told him off, but she bit the words back just in time. No, she thought, dragging in a calming breath. She wouldn’t stoop to Hugh Bishop’s behavior. And surely this time Richard would defend her. After all, as the principal, any slander of the teachers was a direct reflection on him and the school.

She looked at him expectantly, only to drop her jaw when he said, “I’m sorry for this unfortunate incident, Hugh. I promise you it won’t happen again.”

Far from satisfied, the obnoxious man said, “See that it doesn’t.” And with one last look of dislike for Rebecca, he stormed out, making sure he slammed the door behind him.

He’d actually apologized for her behavior! Furious, Rebecca hardly noticed the silence left by Hugh Bishop’s leavetaking. How dare he! she fumed. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and she damn sure intended to tell him that.

But before she could even open her mouth, he turned to her with the same degree of hostility Mr. Bishop had and coldly lifted a dark brow at her. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Taken aback, she couldn’t believe he was serious. At the very least, he owed her an explanation! “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he retorted. “Why did you blatantly ignore the school weapons policy?”

“Me?” she gasped. “I didn’t ignore anything. I took the weapon away from Hughie, just as I was supposed to. You’re the one who gave it back to that awful man just so he can bring it right back to school!”

“Because you didn’t do what you were supposed to do!” Enraged, he glared at her with intense dislike. “You did this! You didn’t do your job. You didn’t turn that weapon in, so I was left with no choice but to take Mr. Bishop’s side.”

“But that makes no sense—”

That was the wrong thing to say. If he’d been angry before, he was absolutely livid now. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Ms. Powell. Do you understand that? I’m in charge around here, and I can do whatever I damn well please. You, on the other hand, are on very thin ice. One more episode like this and you may find yourself looking for another job. Do I make myself clear?”

She wanted to tell him no. She didn’t understand why she was the bad guy for taking the weapon away when he’d been the one who’d given it back! But she knew he was looking for someone to blame, and she was obviously it.

“Perfectly,” she said coolly. “This is an argument I can’t win. If we’re finished here, I need to get back to my classroom.”

His curt nod was her dismissal, and with a sigh of relief, Rebecca hurried out of the office and down the hall, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment and her eyes hot with tears she refused to shed. She would not take this personally, she told herself fiercely. He was just going through a rough time. He needed her understanding now, not her anger. With time, he’d be back to his old, likable self. She just had to be patient…and pray that it would be soon.

With so many of Joe’s friends and family pointing the finger at everyone else, Austin decided the best way to discover the truth about what really happened the night of the party was to talk to the non-guests that had been hired for the evening—caterers, decorators, entertainers, security personnel. As disinterested third parties, they inevitably blended into the woodwork at such a large affair, and in the process, usually saw and heard much more than the guests realized.

Armed with a list of everyone who had access to the estate that night, Austin paid a visit to John Roberts, the caterer, and wasn’t surprised when no one wanted to talk to him. In a business that catered in many cases to the rich and famous, a caterer’s reputation often depended not only on the food he served, but his discretion. If word got out that he was talking about his clients and their private lives to a private investigator, he could kiss his business goodbye.

And no one, apparently, knew that better than John Roberts. When Austin told him what he wanted, John just looked at him. “The police have already questioned me and my staff. We didn’t see anything.”

“I understand,” Austin said easily. “But I’d still like to talk to everyone that worked the party that night. Someone may have seen more than they realized.”

“They don’t get paid to watch the guests, only the food,” he retorted. “You’re wasting your time.”

Starting to get irritated, Austin shot him a narrow-eyed look that warned him he was pushing his luck. “No, you’re wasting my time. Have you got something to hide? Is that why you don’t want me to talk to your employees? Are you afraid the word will get out that you were somehow involved?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then there’s no reason why your people can’t talk to me, is there?”

Neatly cornered, there was nothing John could do but look down his thin nose at him and seethe. “You’re welcome to talk to anyone you like, but my staff is small. Most of the wait staff hired for the party was contract labor.”

“But they’re people you’ve worked with before?”

“Most of them, yes. For a party the size of the Colton affair, you take what you can get.”

“You have their names and addresses?”

“Naturally.”

Turning to the file cabinet behind his desk, he dug out a list and stiffly handed it over. “Everyone was questioned directly after the shooting.”

That was standard procedure, but Austin doubted anyone at the police department had yet done any follow-up interviews after the shock of the shooting had worn off. That was when people remembered vital tidbits of information that might not seem important to them.

Pocketing the list, he said, “That’s okay. I’d still like to talk to them. What do you remember about the party? Did you notice anyone acting suspicious? You must have slipped in and out of the crowd. I’m sure you saw things the family didn’t.”

If he did, he wasn’t admitting it. “It was my duty to make sure that the food stayed hot and never ran out and the champagne flowed freely. When I wasn’t in the kitchen, I was making sure my people were doing their job—and trying to satisfy Mrs. Colton. I didn’t have time to notice anything else.”

Usually a sharp judge of people, Austin wasn’t surprised by his response. The man was so caught up in his work that he probably wouldn’t have seen the shooter if he’d tripped over him…unless he’d had an empty champagne glass in his hand. “Then I guess we have nothing else to talk about,” he replied. “Thanks for your help.”

From the caterers, he checked out the list of waiters and servers and cleanup crew and soon found himself driving all over Prosperino. He ran out nearly a full tank of gas, but had little to show for it. The catering staff that did intermingle with the crowd only knew the more famous guests. Most of the family were strangers to them and they could offer little information.