The Glass Flame

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “I don’t think David knew much about explosives,” he went on, “and of course there’s no telling what he might have found before that house blew up.”

  “Why does Chris think he’s still under suspicion?”

  Trevor hesitated: “Maybe we haven’t been too wise in handling this. Lori—” He broke off. “Anyway, David’s death has upset Chris badly, though I don’t think Chris really liked him. Lori took him away for a few days, but that did very little good. Since they got back today, I’ve had no chance to talk with Chris. He runs from me on sight. Nor have I talked to Lori, for that matter.”

  I felt bitterly sorry for them both—for Chris and his father.

  Trevor stood beside his desk, frowning and lost in thought. Idly he picked up a pencil and tapped it against one forefinger—a silver-colored mechanical pencil. I glanced at the desk and saw several of the same rather distinctive type standing upright in a holder. But of course this meant nothing. Deliberately, I turned my eyes away, as though by not looking I hadn’t seen.

  “Karen,” Trevor said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you that those belongings of David’s that were found at the motel where he stayed have been delivered here. Perhaps you’ll want to go through them and dispose of anything you don’t care to keep. They’ve been set out in the downstairs utility room for you, when you’re ready. Of course the police have examined everything before releasing them.”

  “I’ll take care of it soon,” I said. “Have you done anything yet about that note I found in Cecily’s room today?”

  “Yes, I’ve already mailed it to David’s company in New York. We’ll see what they can find out. In the meantime, I’d better have another look at the island. The police went over it, of course, after the last fire, but I don’t think anyone’s searched it lately.”

  “Giff said he’d been over it carefully and there’s no one there.”

  “Giff?” Trevor’s frown deepened. “I still think I’ll have a look for myself.”

  “A look for what, Trevor?” Lori asked from the doorway.

  Now, lying in my bed in another room, with all the lights burning and the doors locked, I wished that I could erase from my memory that unpleasant scene in Trevor’s workroom when Lori walked in. But it wouldn’t fade, and it wouldn’t let me be.

  There had been something almost electric about her as she stood watching us with her eyes bright and taunting.

  “A look for what?” she repeated.

  Trevor answered her shortly. “Chris thinks someone is hiding on the island. Has he said anything to you?”

  “He doesn’t talk to me much these days,” she said. “He seems to disapprove of us both.” Her look shifted slyly to me. “Perhaps you’re lucky not to be a mother, Karen. Children can be so difficult at times.”

  I said nothing and she came a little way into the room, her gaze still fixed on me, some inner current driving her.

  “So Cecily let you go?” she asked lightly. “This time.”

  Until that moment I had thought ahead to my confrontation with her and of the angry things I meant to say to Lori Andrews. But I no longer wanted to say them, and I started toward the door without answering her, only to have her block my way.

  “You must tell me how you got out,” she ran on, and I saw the flush of excitement in her cheeks and knew that she was prodding, not only me, but Trevor as well. As though she wanted to goad us into anger. “Those are heavy doors in Great-grandpa Vinnie’s house. And you couldn’t drop to the ground. Not with those high ceilings. Of course I would have come to let you out after a while. Perhaps after dark. That can be such a spooky old place that I’d have liked you to experience it at night. I have. I love the house when everything’s black and you can hear it talking to itself. Or perhaps talking to Cecily.”

  “Lori,” Trevor said sharply, “that’s enough!”

  “I got out by breaking the door panel with a poker,” I told her.

  She laughed and I remembered the sound. “How enterprising of you, Karen! Though a shame to damage such a beautiful door. Were you very frightened, locked in that room?”

  I stood my ground. “Why did you want to frighten me, Lori?”

  Abruptly she shed her taunting, her mischievous game-playing, and answered me with a directness and simplicity that was unexpected. “Because we both want you to go away—Trevor and I. We don’t want you to stay here and dredge up the past. We want you to go away as soon as the funeral is over and forget everything that happened here. Perhaps I’ll never be able to forgive what happened, but that’s none of your business, is it, Karen?”

  “David is my business.”

  “Not anymore. There’s nothing you can do for David now.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ve just told Trevor that I mean to stay until I know more about David’s death. If you’d rather I moved to a hotel—”

  She turned her head away with a graceful movement, so that a wing of pale hair fell across her face. “Stay here, by all means. Though I’d have thought you’d want what’s best for Trevor now. You may not like whatever it is you discover—if you discover anything.”

  “I’ll stay if you’ll let me,” I said, and changed the subject abruptly. “What happened to the cat?”

  “Commodore? I took him to the vet. He thinks a thrown rock did the damage. Some child, probably. The wound was infected, but he’ll be all right. I’ll run along now and leave you to your reminiscences.”

  She gave us another venomously sweet smile and went away.

  The silence grew until Trevor broke it. “I’m sorry, Karen. There’s nothing I can say.”

  “I understand.” I went quickly out of the room, more shaken than I wanted him to see. I didn’t understand at all. I didn’t understand how Lori, who was so grievously at fault, could stand there and taunt the husband she had injured. And how could he be patient and tolerant of her behavior? Or was it that whatever burned inside him must be restrained, controlled, lest he strike out at her with devastating results?

  I mustn’t let it all matter to me—I mustn’t! The only thing I really wanted now was to escape from this house and never return. Except that there was still David’s death, and I was no more free to do as I pleased than Trevor was.

  By the time I reached the top of the stairs I was running, but before I could start down, Nona came out of her rooms in her wheelchair and called to me.

  “What is it, Karen? What was all that loud talking about?”

  I didn’t want to stop, but she wheeled toward me with remarkable speed and reached out to catch me by the hand. Once more her hair was coiled on top of her head in a style that became her, and she wore a long, rose-flowered gown.

  “Come along to my rooms. You mustn’t go off by yourself when you’re as upset as this. It’s Lori, isn’t it? Come and tell me what’s been happening. Maybe I can help.”

  There seemed to be no way to refuse, so I gave in and followed her rolling chair down the hall. For the first time I stepped into Nona Andrews’ sanctuary.

  Her sitting room was long and uncluttered, the floor covered by some neutral synthetic material that enabled her chair to move easily. At the far end it opened into a narrow hall, with a bedroom on one side, and the ramp leading past it that would take her outdoors.

  The moment I stepped into the room I caught the too pervasive scent of sandalwood, and found its source at once. On a small table a brass dragon coiled its scales to offer a candle holder, and from the tip of a chunky candle drifted a wisp of scented smoke.

  This was a room of delicate rose and gray—a little surprising for Nona. Wide glass picture windows looked out over the lower roofs of the house to the woods beyond, and before one of these windows stood Eric Caton. He turned as we came in, to regard me with a penetrating look from beneath bushy gray brows. At least this time he was not rushing away, and I could observe him more carefully—all the more interested now because of Maggie and Giff.

  “You’ve met Karen Hallam, haven’t you, Eric?” Nona
asked, and he came toward me, a hand outstretched.

  “Yes, we’ve met. But not under the best of circumstances. I’d like to apologize.”

  “You don’t need to,” Nona assured him before I could speak. “Karen knows what it is to run away from Lori. Do get her something to drink, Eric.”

  He took my hand first—a handsome man, probably in his late fifties, his hair still thick and silver-gray, his eyes shrewd but not unkindly. This, I reminded myself, was not only Vinnie Fromberg’s grandson, but he had also been his right-hand man and was now managing the Fromberg empire. He was also very much in opposition to Trevor’s plan for Belle Isle. That reminder was necessary because it was easy to be beguiled by his charm and the magnetism he undoubtedly had for women. I had found Giff attractive, but Eric made a far more powerful impression.

  “What can I get you to drink?” he asked.

  I told him scotch and water would be fine, and sat down at one end of the gray sofa that faced the windows. On a table at my elbow I noticed an odd-looking stringed instrument, made with a narrow waist between two wider bulges. Three strings wound into keys on the short, curved neck.

  “Is that what I heard someone playing last night?” I asked.

  Nona had left her chair and was propelling herself with the help of forearm crutches. Apparently her legs would carry her weight to some extent, and she came to sit beside me, picking up her own drink and chinking the ice against the glass.

  “That’s my dulcimer,” she said. “Made right here in our highlands by a man who specializes in them. There aren’t many such craftsmen left. He taught me to play it, and I’ve even played and sung at some of our craft fairs that feature Mountain Music.”

  “The sound is lovely,” I said.

  She nodded, but her interest lay elsewhere. “Now then, tell us what was going on with Lori and Trevor.”

  “There isn’t much to tell,” I offered lamely. “Lori seems to have taken a disliking to me.”

  Nona brushed this aside. “But what did Lori do?”

  I dropped my evasion. “She persuaded me to go with her to the island to see the octagonal house. Then she locked me into Cecily’s sitting room and left me there. I was breaking open the door with a poker when Trevor rescued me.”

  Eric’s laughter was hearty and it drowned out Nona’s pleased little chortles. Both seemed amused by Lori’s antics and my response, and their reaction jarred me. It hadn’t been a funny experience.

  “Good for you!” Eric said. “I like women to be enterprising.”

  “He doesn’t mean too enterprising,” Nona said cheerfully. “I’ve known Eric for a long time. He used to be an old beau of mine—before all this happened.” She waved a careless hand at her legs.

  “You know you threw me over,” Eric countered and winked at me. “She broke my heart when I was in my twenties. I’ve never gotten over it.”

  This sort of persiflage was clearly habitual with them and they beamed at each other in pleased understanding. I sipped my drink, content to be forgotten. But Nona’s next words brought me back, startled.

  “Just why do you want to stay here, Karen? I should think you would prefer to get back to your own life. It can’t be anything but depressing for you here.”

  “Murder is always depressing,” I said.

  The room’s silence was intense, and without looking at either of them I was aware of their focused interest.

  “Murder is an ominous word,” Eric remarked. “Though of course since that house was set to explode and burn, I suppose it’s appropriate in the sense of being second degree.”

  It was time to speak of David’s letter again.

  “Before he died,” I said, “David warned me in a letter that an attempt might be made on his life. He had discovered too much and was nearly ready to close in. He was stopped before he could finish what he must have started. I’d like to stay until we know the whole truth.”

  “I’d like to see that letter,” Eric said.

  I shook my head. “No—I’m sorry. Some of it is personal. I don’t want to show it to anyone.”

  “Then we shan’t urge you,” Nona said firmly. “Just before you came we were talking about the man on the island. Perhaps that’s pertinent now. Do go on with what you were saying, Eric.”

  The charm and geniality had vanished, and I could glimpse the cold calculation that Eric Caton might bring to a business matter. I had the feeling that if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have let me off so easily on the matter of David’s letter. He answered Nona mildly, however.

  “No one is sure there is a man on the island.”

  “Chris has seen him. Though from a distance,” Nona said. “And you told me yourself—”

  “What I said, dear lady, was that the island would make an ideal hideout for the arsonist. If he’s still around. Which seems unlikely after David’s unfortunate death.”

  I wanted to keep them talking. “Chris says he saw someone there yesterday. A man with gray hair.”

  Eric dismissed Chris’s words with a shrug. “He’s an imaginative boy. You can’t always count on the truth from him. For instance, he has the notion that his father caused David’s death. Ridiculous, of course. We all know Trevor better than that. Besides he’d hardly destroy those houses he’s put so much into.”

  Eric was watching me, challenging me in some way, and I tried not to twirl my glass in nervous fingers, tried to ask my questions carefully.

  “Why would Chris think a thing like that about his father? And how do you know that he does?”

  Nona said, “The boy is upset because of David and Lori. He’s confused, bewildered. He’ll come out of it.”

  Eric had raised an eyebrow at Nona, and she rushed on.

  “Oh, we needn’t pussyfoot around Karen. She knows all about that nasty little affair between David and Lori.”

  “Probably because you told her,” Eric said wryly, and she grinned at him. “Anyway,” he went on, “I must be going. Maggie said dinner would be early tonight. She has to attend a meeting somewhere.”

  “Then you’d better be there. She’s been edgy lately.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Eric’s casual manner had returned and he said good-bye as though he hated to leave us and couldn’t wait to be with us again.

  When he’d gone, Nona almost pounced on me. “Now then—I know you didn’t want to talk in front of Eric. But you must tell me everything that has happened. Not for the sake of gossip, though I enjoy that too. But I need to know what’s going on. I’m especially worried about Chris, and I can’t always get around where things are happening. If I can be aware, I can manage better.”

  Manage what? I wondered. She could probably get around almost anywhere she wished to go. However, there was no reason to hold anything back. I gave her further details of my experience with Lori in the octagonal house. I even told her about the note I had found under the blotter on Cecily’s desk, and she heard me out, nodding now and then.

  “Yes, it’s exactly the sort of thing Lori would do. You’d better understand what she’s like if you’re to stay on for a while in this house. Lori loves danger for itself. She only feels alive when she’s frightening herself by following the edge of the cliff. But you’re to pay no mind to talk about Trevor and that fire. Lori asks for trouble sometimes. That’s her way of dancing on the edge of the precipice. But while Trevor has a temper, just the way David did, he wouldn’t plan murder.”

  I felt unexpectedly grateful to Nona. Her sharp tongue often cut through to the truth, and I was beginning to like her better—as perhaps she was me.

  “Do you think Lori really cared about David?” I asked.

  “Of course. She wanted him the minute she clapped eyes on him. He was a source of that very danger she loves. She could torment Trevor with him. But she didn’t love him any more deeply than he did her, if that’s what you mean. They were two of a kind. Anyway, Lori won’t waste tears on a dead man for long, though she’ll milk the situation for whatever a
dvantage it’s worth. Mainly to get back at Trevor, I think. For seeing through her! I’ve never liked David. I detested him from the first time I met him as Trevor’s brother years ago. Half brother. We weren’t kin, you know. Trevor’s father was my brother. David always hankered after anything Trevor had. He resented him, you know, because Trevor’s talents are real and he deserves all the things David could never win for himself. I’m sure David didn’t give a damn about Lori. She was just someone to take away from Trevor. Only when he touched Lori he was playing with danger too, and I wonder if he ever took time to understand that.”

  I was lost in my own memories of the past. “I wanted to love David. In the beginning I thought I did,” I told her.

  “He’d make a poor substitute for Trevor,” Nona said shrewdly. “But I can see how perhaps you weren’t altogether fair to David, any more than he was to you.”

  “I know that,” I admitted.

  “So now you can’t forgive yourself. Irrational, but human.”

  I sipped the last of my scotch and set the glass down carefully because my hand had a tendency to tremble. It had helped a little to talk all this out with Nona and have her cut shrewdly through to the truth. But it left me shaken.

  “That’s why you’re staying, isn’t it?” she went on. “Because of this silly thing called guilt that you’ve lived with all through your marriage. All because you once had a young crush on David’s brother.”

  “I owe David something,” I said for the hundredth time. “It doesn’t have to be rational. I just feel that way.”

  “You owe yourself something too. We all have to forgive ourselves the best we can. Trevor hasn’t learned that yet. He still thinks he owes something to Lori. Ridiculous. Chris matters. She doesn’t. Trash! I’m concerned because Trevor and Chris are the only two people I’m truly fond of. I would do anything—and I don’t care if it kills me—to keep them from harm. Yet I haven’t been able to lift a finger to help when it comes to these fires and the destruction of Trevor’s dream. It was a good dream, Karen. A big dream. And there’s one piece of forgiving that I will never do. I’ll never forgive the one who hired this to be done.”