“He said that? I’m...speechless,” Arden sputtered.
“I was pretty surprised myself,” Reid said.
“Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. That man...that insufferable man...has never once shown the slightest bit of interest in me, and now he’s warning you to stay away from me?” She got up and paced to the window. “This just proves I’m right. He’s up to something.”
“I think so, too,” Reid said. “Until we can figure out his agenda, you should stay away from him.”
She marched back to the desk and plopped down. “Oh, no. I’m going over there tonight to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Arden, don’t do that.”
“Who does he think he is? He can’t bully my friends and get away with it. He can’t bully me. I won’t let him.”
“Calm down, okay? I understand how you feel but listen to me for a minute. Arden? Are you listening?”
She folded her arms. “What?”
“Clement Mayfair is a powerful man with unlimited resources. We have to be careful how we take him on. We have to keep our cool. He said I didn’t want him for an enemy and I believe him.”
She glanced at Reid in alarm. “Does this mean you don’t want to take my case? Maybe you don’t want me working here, either. I understand if you don’t. I could walk out the door right now, no hard feelings.”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“I know, but I came here this morning and more or less forced myself on you.”
A smile flitted. “I’m not sure I would put it quite that way.”
“You know what I mean. I made it nearly impossible for you to say no to me. I’m giving you that chance now. Say the word, Reid.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Did you even hear what I said? We need to be careful how we take him on. We. Us. You and me.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
He entwined his fingers beneath his chin as he gazed at her across the desk. “Weren’t you the one who said we make a formidable pair?”
“Yes, but that was before I knew my grandfather had threatened you. You’re trying to start your own firm. The last thing you need is Clement Mayfair making trouble for you. And you don’t need to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
The gold flecks in his eyes suddenly seemed on fire as his gaze intensified. “I told you before, old habits die hard.”
“Fourteen years, Reid.”
“Some things don’t change.”
* * *
ARDEN HAD A difficult time forgetting that look in Reid’s eyes. She thought about it all the way home. She thought about it during an early, solitary dinner, and she was still thinking about those golden flecks when she drifted out to the garden. The sun had dipped below the treetops, but the air had not yet cooled. The breeze that blew through the palmettos was hot and sticky, making her wonder if a storm might be brewing somewhere off the coast.
She started down the walkway, taking note of what needed to be done to the gardens. She wouldn’t linger long outside. Once the light started to fade, she would hurry back inside, lock the doors, set the alarm and curl up with a mindless TV program until she grew drowsy. For now, though, she still had plenty of light, and the exotic dome of the summerhouse beckoned.
As tempted as she was by memories, she couldn’t bring herself to climb the steps and explore the shadowy interior. She diverted course just as she had last evening, finding herself once again at the greenhouse. She peered through the glass walls, letting her gaze travel along the empty tables and aisles. No one was about. She wondered if her uncle had already been by before she got home. He had been cordial and pleasant, but Arden still didn’t feel comfortable with his having the run of the place. Did she dare risk offending him by asking for the key back? Or should she take the advice she’d given to Reid and have all the locks changed?
That wouldn’t be a bad idea in any case, she decided. For all she knew, there could be any number of keys floating around. The notion that her grandfather might have gotten his hands on one was distinctly unnerving.
As she stood gazing into the greenhouse, her mind drifted back to her conversation with her uncle and how as a child he’d snuck out of his father’s house every chance he got so that he could come here to Berdeaux Place. Arden could imagine him in the garden, peering through the glass walls of the greenhouse to watch his mother and sister as they happily worked among the plants. How lonely he must have been back then. How abandoned he must have felt. What could have happened in her grandparents’ marriage to drive Evelyn away, taking her daughter and leaving her son behind to be raised by a cold, loveless man? How could any mother make that choice?
The answer was simple. She hadn’t been given a choice.
And now Clement Mayfair wanted a relationship with Arden, his only granddaughter. After all these years, why the sudden interest in her welfare? The answer again was simple. She had something he wanted.
Maybe it was her imagination, but the breeze suddenly grew chilly as the shadows in the garden lengthened. She turned away from the greenhouse, trusting that her mother’s cereus wouldn’t bloom for another few nights.
She paused again on her way back to the house, her gaze going once more to the summerhouse dome. Did she dare take a closer look? Once the sun went down, the light would fade quickly and she didn’t want to be caught out in the garden at twilight. Orson Lee Finch was in prison and would likely remain there for the rest of his natural life, but another killer was out there somewhere. One who knew about the magnolia blossom that had been left on the summerhouse steps.
Arden approached those steps now with a curious blend of excitement and dread. She stood at the bottom, letting her gaze roam over the domed roof and the intricate latticework walls, peering up at the window from which her mother’s killer had once stared back at her. Then she drew an unsteady breath as her mind went back to that twilight. She had stood then exactly where she stood now, her heart hammering against her chest. Her mother had lain motionless on the grass, her skin as pale as moonlight.
Even without the bloodstains on her mother’s dress, Arden would have known that something truly horrible had happened. She hadn’t fully understood that her mother was gone, not at first, but she knew she wanted nothing so much as to turn and run back to the safety of the house and into her grandmother’s comforting embrace. A scent, a sound...a strange knowing...had held her in thrall until a scream finally bubbled up from her paralyzed throat. Then she hadn’t been able to stop screaming even when help arrived, even when she’d been led back inside, away from the body, away from those disembodied eyes in the summerhouse window. She hadn’t calmed down until her grandmother had sent for her best friend, Reid.
His father had brought him right over. Back then, he had always come when she needed him. Some things don’t change.
The breeze was still warm, but Arden felt the deepest of chills. She hugged her arms to herself as she placed a foot on the bottom step. A rustling sound from inside the summerhouse froze her. Was someone in there?
More likely a squirrel or a bird, she told herself.
Still, she retreated back to the garden, rushing along the flagstone path, tripping as she glanced over her shoulder. No one was there, of course. That didn’t stop her. She hurried inside and locked the door against the encroaching shadows. Then she unlocked the liquor cabinet and poured herself a shot of her grandmother’s best whiskey.
Arden downed the fiery drink and poured another, carrying the glass with her upstairs to her bedroom. She turned on all the lights and searched through her closet until she found her secret stash—the reams of notes she and Reid had compiled during their summer investigation. They had only been children playing at detective, but even then they’d been resourceful and inquisitive. Formidable. It wasn’t inconceivable that they may have stumbled across something important without realizing it.
/> Carrying everything back down to the front parlor, she dropped to the floor and spread the notebooks around her on the rug. Imagining her grandmother’s irritation at such a mess, she muttered a quick apology before digging in.
Thumbing through the pages, she marveled at how much time and attention a couple of twelve-year-olds had devoted to their endeavor. She finished her drink and poured another. She wasn’t used to hard liquor and the whiskey soon went to her head. It was dark out by this time and she turned on a lamp before curling up on the sofa, leaving notebooks and markers strewn across the floor. It was too early to sleep. She would be up at the crack of dawn if she went to bed now. She would rest her eyes just for a few minutes. She would simply lie there very still as the room spun around her.
Sometime later, her eyes flew open, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then she wondered what had awakened her so abruptly. A sound...a smell...an instinct?
Just a dream, she told herself as she settled back against the couch. Nothing to worry about.
But she could hear something overhead...upstairs. Where exactly was the scrabbling sound coming from?
Bolting upright, she sat in the lamplight listening to the house. Berdeaux Place was over a hundred and fifty years old. Creaks and groans were to be expected. Nothing to worry about.
The sound came again, bringing her to her feet. Squirrels, she told herself. Just squirrels. Nothing to worry about.
A family of squirrels had once invaded the attic, wreaking havoc on wiring and insulation until her grandmother had hired an exterminator. He’d trapped mother and babies and transported them to White Point Garden. At least that was the story Arden had been told.
She wasn’t afraid of squirrels or mice, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she made sure nothing had found its way inside the house. Grabbing her grandmother’s sword, she followed the sound out into the foyer. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish with the blade. She certainly wouldn’t run a poor squirrel through, but she liked to think she had enough grit to protect herself from an intruder. If nothing else, the feel of the curved hilt in her hand brought out her inner warrior woman. She went up the stairs without hesitation, pausing only at the top to listen.
Her grandmother’s bedroom was at the front of the house, a large, airy room with an ancient, opulent en suite. Arden’s room was at the back, with long windows that overlooked the garden. Her mother’s room was across the hall.
Arden following the rummaging sound down the hallway, pausing only long enough to glance in her room. Everything was as she’d left it that morning. Bed neatly made up, suitcases unpacked, clothing all stored away.
She crossed to her mother’s room, hovering in the hallway with her hand on the knob. After the murder, Arden’s grandmother had locked the room, allowing only the housekeeper inside once a week to dust and vacuum. The room had become a mausoleum, abandoned and forbidden until Arden had gone to her grandmother and told her how much she hated the locked door. It was as if they were trying to lock their memories away, trying to forget her mother ever existed.
After that, the door had been opened, and Arden had been free to visit her mother’s room whenever she desired. She used to spend hours inside, sitting by the windows or playing dress up in front of the long, gilded mirror. Sometimes she would just lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling as she drank in the lingering scent of her mother’s candles.
Arden wasn’t sure why she hesitated to go inside now. She wasn’t afraid of ghosts. She wasn’t afraid to remember her mother, whom she had loved with all her heart. She had a strange sense of guilt and displacement. Like she had been gone for so long she had no business violating this sacred place. Her emotions made little sense and felt irrational.
Taking a breath, she opened the door and stepped across the threshold. Moonlight flooded the room, glinting so brilliantly off the mirror that Arden was startled back into the hallway. Then she laughed at herself and reached for the light switch, her gaze roaming the room as she waited for her pulse to settle.
Her mother’s domain was just as she’d left it all those years ago. The room was pretty and eclectic, bordering on Bohemian with the silk bed throw and thick floor pillows at all the windows. A suitable space for the mysterious young woman her mother had been. Arden could still smell the scented candles, but how was that possible? Surely the scent would have faded by now. Unless her grandmother had periodically replaced them. She may have even lit them from time to time.
Arden walked over to the dresser and lifted one of the candles to her nose. Sandalwood. The second was patchouli. The third...magnolia.
She was so shocked by the scent, she almost dropped the glass holder. Her fingers trembled, her heart pounded. She quickly set the candle aside. It’s just a scent, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.
Hadn’t she been the one who had talked her grandmother out of chopping down the magnificent old magnolia tree that shaded the summerhouse?
It’s just a tree, Grandmother.
“It’s just a scent,” she whispered.
But the notion that someone other than her grandmother had been in her mother’s room, burning a magnolia candle...
It was just a scent. Just a dream. Just squirrels...
Arden backtracked out of the room and closed the door. She hurried across the hall to her room, locking the door behind her and then shoving a chair up under the knob. She was safe enough at Berdeaux Place. The doors were all locked and the security system activated. No one could get in without her knowing.
She went over to the window to glance down into the garden. She could see the top of the summerhouse peeking through the trees and the glint of moonlight on the greenhouse. The night was still and calm, and yet she couldn’t shake the scary notion that someone was down there hidden among the shadows. She’d once been expert at climbing down the trellis to escape her room. What if someone else had the notion to climb up? Was she really safe here?
She couldn’t stand guard at the window all night. Neither could she close her eyes and fall back asleep. She was too keyed up now. Too wary of every night sound, no matter how slight.
Scouring the grounds one last time, she finally left the window and lay down on the bed, her grandmother’s sword beside her. She thought again of Orson Lee Finch in prison, but the image of an aging killer behind bars gave her no comfort because another killer had already struck once. If someone wanted to set Reid up for murder, who better than her as his next victim?
She pulled the covers up over her and snuggled her head against the pillow, but she didn’t fall asleep until dawn broke over the city and the light in her room turned golden.
Chapter Nine
Reid was already on his second cup of coffee by the time Arden arrived the next morning. The locksmith had come and gone and he was seated at his desk glancing through the paper as he chowed down on a breakfast burrito he’d bought at the corner store. He’d finally gotten a good night’s sleep and felt better than he had in days. Arden, on the other hand, looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink. The dark circles under her eyes had deepened and her response to his greeting had been lukewarm at best.
He gave her a lingering appraisal as she stood in his office doorway. “What’s wrong?” he asked in concern. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
She gave him a pained smile. Then she glanced away as if she didn’t want him to stare too deeply into her eyes. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I can tell.” He took a quick sip of his coffee. “Anything I should know about?”
“Squirrels in the attic,” she muttered.
Reid carefully set aside his cup. “Are you sure that’s all it was? Not residual nerves from what happened here yesterday?”
“I don’t think so.” Her gaze darted back to him and she shrugged. “Honestly, I think it’s that house. I never
imagined it would be so disconcerting to be there alone. Every time I go out into the garden, I remember what happened. I close my eyes and I picture my mother’s body, so cold and still, on the ground. I imagine someone staring back at me from the summerhouse windows.”
“You lived in that house for years after your mother died,” Reid said. “You never seemed to dwell on it back then.”
She brushed back her hair with a careless gesture. “I was a kid. I thought I was invincible. Plus, I had you.”
His heart gave a funny little jump. “No one is invincible.”
“I’ve never been more aware of that fact since you came to my house the other evening and told me about the latest murder. And speaking of invincible...” She glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance. “I noticed you had the locks changed. That was fast.”
“I have a friend in the business. He sent someone out first thing this morning. I don’t want a repeat of what happened yesterday.”
“That’s smart,” she said with a nod. “I’ve been thinking it would be a good idea to change the locks at Berdeaux Place, as well. If my uncle has a key to the side gate, then he may also have one to the house. And if he has a key to the house—”
“Your grandfather could gain access,” Reid finished. “I’ll set you up with my friend. You can trust him. I’ve known him for years. In fact, he was one of my first clients. You should also have him check out your security system, make sure everything is up-to-date. At the very least, you need to change your code.”
“I’ve already done that.” She had remained hovering in the doorway of his office all this time; now she came in and dumped the contents of her tote bag on his desk.
He took in the black-and-white notebooks and then glanced up. “What’s all this?”
“Don’t you recognize them?” Arden sat down in a chair across from his desk. She wore white jeans and a summery top that left her toned arms bare. Her hair was down today and tucked behind her ears. He caught the glitter of tiny diamonds in her lobes, could smell the barest hint of honeysuckle as she settled into her chair. “They’re the notebooks from our investigation,” she explained.
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