by Nora Roberts
Sitting back, Autumn managed a smile. “You’re not going to tell me you can cook.”
Julia aimed an arched glance. “I don’t suppose you should eat anything too heavy at this time of night,” she said mildly. “There’s some marvelous soup left from dinner, and I’ll fix you my specialty. A cheese omelette.”
Autumn decided that watching Julia Bond bustle around a kitchen was worth the market price of an ounce of gold. She seemed competent enough and kept up a bouncy conversation that took no brainpower to follow. With a flourish, she plopped a glass of milk in front of Autumn.
“I’m not really very fond of milk,” Autumn began and glanced toward the coffeepot.
“Now, drink up,” Julia instructed. “You need roses in your cheeks. You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
Steaming chicken soup joined the milk, and Autumn attacked it with single-minded intensity. Some of the weakness drained from her limbs.
“Good girl,” Julia approved as she dished up the omelette. “You look nearly human again.”
Glancing over, Autumn smiled. “Julia, you’re marvelous.”
“Yes, I know. I was born that way.” She sipped coffee and watched Autumn start on the eggs. “I’m glad you were able to rest. This day has been a century.”
For the first time, Autumn noticed the mauve shadows under the blue eyes and felt a tug of guilt. “I’m sorry. You should be in bed, not waiting on me.”
“Lord, but you’re sweet.” Julia pulled out a cigarette. “I haven’t any desire to go up to my room until exhaustion takes over. I’m quite selfishly prepared to keep you with me until it does. Actually, Autumn,” she added, watching through a mist of smoke, “I wonder if it’s very wise for you to be wandering about on your own.”
“What?” Autumn looked up again and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It was your room that was broken into,” Julia pointed out.
“Yes, but . . .” She was surprised to realize she’d almost overlooked the ransacking of her room with everything else that had happened. “It must have been Helen,” she ventured.
“Oh, I doubt that,” Julia returned and continued to sip contemplatively. “I very much doubt that. If Helen had broken into your room, it would have been to look for something she could use on you. She’d have been tidy. We’ve given this some thought.”
“We?”
“Well, I’ve given it some thought,” Julia amended smoothly. “I think whoever tore up your things was looking for something, then covered the search with overdone destruction.”
“Looking for what?” Autumn demanded. “I don’t have anything anyone here could be interested in.”
“Don’t you?” Julia ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth. “I’ve been thinking about what happened in your darkroom.”
“You mean when the power went off?” Autumn shook her head and touched the bruise on her forehead. “I walked into the door.”
“Did you?” Julia sat back and studied the harsh ceiling light. “I wonder. Lucas told me that you said you heard someone rattling at the knob and walked over. What if . . .” She brought her eyes back to Autumn’s. “What if someone swung the door open and hit you with it?”
“It was locked,” Autumn insisted, then remembered that it had been open when Lucas found her.
“There are keys, darling.” She watched Autumn’s face closely. “What are you thinking?”
“The door was open when Lucas—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “No, Julia, it’s ridiculous. Why would anyone want to do that to me?”
Julia lifted a brow. “Interesting question. What about your ruined film?”
“The film?” Autumn felt herself being pulled in deeper. “It must have been an accident.”
“You didn’t spoil it, Autumn, you’re too competent.” She waited while Autumn spread her hands on the table and looked down at them. “I’ve watched you. Your movements are very fluid, very assured. And you’re a professional. You wouldn’t botch up a roll of film without being aware of it.”
“No,” Autumn agreed and looked back up. Her eyes were steady again. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“What if someone’s worried that you took a picture they don’t want developed? The film in your room was ruined, too.”
“I can follow your logic that far, Julia.” Autumn pushed aside the remaining omelette. “But then it’s a dead end. I haven’t taken any pictures anyone could worry about. I was shooting scenery. Trees, animals, the lake.”
“Maybe someone isn’t certain about that.” She crushed out her cigarette in a quick motion and leaned forward. “Whoever is worried enough about a picture to risk destroying your room and knocking you unconscious is dangerous. Dangerous enough to murder. Dangerous enough to hurt you again if necessary.”
Staring back, Autumn controlled a tremor. “Jane? Jane accused me of spying, but she couldn’t—”
“Oh yes, she could.” Julia’s voice was hard again, and definite. “Face it, Autumn, anyone pushed hard enough is capable of murder. Anyone.”
Autumn’s thoughts flicked back to Lucas and the look on his face when he had slipped his hand around her throat.
“Jane was desperate,” Julia continued. “She claims to have made a full confession to Robert, but what proof is there? Or Robert, furious at what Helen had put his wife through, could have done it himself. He loves Jane quite a lot.”
“Yes, I know.” The sudden, sweeping anger in Robert’s eyes flashed through her mind.
“Or there’s Steve.” Julia’s finger began to tap on the table. “He tells me that Helen found out about some unwise deal he put through, something potentially damaging to his political career. He’s very ambitious.”
“But, Julia—”
“Then there’s Lucas.” Julia went on as if Autumn hadn’t spoken. “There’s a matter of a delicate divorce suit. Helen held information she claimed would interest a certain estranged husband.” She lit another cigarette and let the smile float up and away. “Lucas is known for his temper. He’s a very physical man.”
Autumn met the look steadily. “Lucas is a lot of things, not all of them admirable, but he wouldn’t kill.”
Julia smiled and said nothing as she brought the cigarette to her lips. “Then there’s me.” The smile widened. “Of course, I claim I didn’t care about Helen’s threats, but I’m an actress. A good one. I’ve got an Oscar to prove it. Like Lucas, my temper is no secret. I could give you a list of directors who would tell you I’m capable of anything.” Idly she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray. “But then, if I had killed her, I would have set the scene differently. I would have discovered the body myself, screamed, then fainted magnificently. As it was, you stole the show.”
“That’s not funny, Julia.”
“No,” she agreed and rubbed her temple. “It’s not. But the fact remains that I could have killed Helen, and you’re far too trusting.”
“If you’d killed her,” Autumn countered, “why would you warn me?”
“Bluff and double bluff,” Julia answered with a new smile that made Autumn’s skin crawl. “Don’t trust anyone, not even me.”
Autumn wasn’t going to let Julia frighten her, though she seemed determined to do so. She kept her eyes level. “You haven’t included Jacques.”
To Autumn’s surprise, Julia’s eyes flickered, then dropped. The smooth, tapering fingers crushed out her cigarette with enough force to break the filter. “No, I haven’t. I suppose he must be viewed through your eyes like the rest of us, but I know . . .” She looked up again, and Autumn saw the vulnerability. “I know he isn’t capable of hurting anyone.”
“You’re in love with him.”
Julia smiled, quite beautifully. “I love Jacques very much, but not the way you mean.” She rose then and, getting another cup, poured them both coffee. “I’ve known Jacques for ten years. He’s the only person in the world I care about more than myself. We’re friends, real friends, proba
bly because we’ve never been lovers.”
Autumn drank the coffee black. She wanted the kick of it. She’d protect him, she thought. She’d protect him any way she could.
“I have a weakness for men,” Julia continued, “and I indulge it. With Jacques, the time or place was never right. Ultimately, the friendship was too important to risk messing it up in the bedroom. He’s a good, gentle man. The biggest mistake he ever made was in marrying Claudette.”
Julia’s voice hardened. Her nails began to tap on the table again, quicker than before. “She did her best to eat him alive. For a long time, he tried to keep the marriage together for the children. It simply wasn’t possible. I won’t go into details; they’d shock you.” Tilting her head, Julia gave Autumn a smile that put her squarely into adolescence. “And, in any case, it’s Jacques’s miserable secret. He didn’t divorce her, on the numerous grounds he could have, but allowed her to file.”
“And Claudette got the children.”
“That’s right. It nearly killed him when she was awarded custody. He adores them. And, I must admit, they are rather sweet little monsters.” The nails stopped tapping as she reached for her coffee. “Anyway, skipping over this and that, Jacques filed a custody suit about a year ago. He met someone shortly after. I can’t tell you her name—you’d recognize it, and I have Jacques’s confidence. But I can tell you she’s perfect for him. Then Helen crawled her slimy way in.”
Autumn shook her head. “Why don’t they just get married?”
Julia leaned back with an amused sigh. “If life were only so simple. Jacques is free, but his lady won’t be for another few months. They want nothing more than to marry, bring Jacques’s little monsters to America and raise as many more as possible. They’re crazy about each other.”
Julia sipped her cooling coffee. “They can’t live together openly until the custody thing is resolved so they rented this little place in the country. Helen found out. You can figure out the rest. Jacques paid her, for his children and because his lady’s divorce isn’t as cut-and-dried as it might be, but when Helen turned up here, he’d reached his limit. They argued about it one night in the lounge. He told her she wouldn’t get another cent. I’m sure, no matter how much Jacques had already paid her, Helen would still have turned her information over to Claudette—for a price.”
Autumn stared at her, unable to speak. She had never seen Julia look so cold. She saw the ruthlessness cover the exquisite face. Julia looked over, then laughed with genuine amusement.
“Oh, Autumn, you’re like an open book!” The hard mask had melted away, leaving her warm and lovely again. “Now you’re thinking I could have murdered Helen after all. Not for myself, but for Jacques.”
***
Autumn fell into a fitful sleep sometime after dawn. This was no deep, empty sleep brought on by medication or exhaustion, but was confused and dream riddled.
At first, there were only vague shadows and murmured voices floating through her mind, taunting her to try to see and hear more clearly. She fought to focus on them. Shadows moved, shapes began to sharpen, then became fuzzy and disordered again. She pitted all her determination against them, wanting more than hints and whispers. Abruptly, the shadows evaporated. The voices grew to a roar in her ears.
Wild-eyed, Jane crushed Autumn’s camera underfoot. She screamed, pointing a pair of scissors to keep Autumn at bay. “Spy!” she shouted as the cracking of the camera’s glass echoed like gunfire. “Spy!”
Wanting to escape the madness and accusations, Autumn turned. Colors whirled around her, then there was Robert.
“She tormented my wife.” His arm held Autumn firmly, then slowly tightened, cutting off her breath. “You need some food,” he said softly. “It shows in the face first.” He was smiling, but the smile was a travesty. Breaking away, Autumn found herself in the corridor.
Jacques came toward her. There was blood on his hands. His eyes were sad and terrifying as he held them out to her. “My children.” There was a tremor in his voice as he gestured to her. Turning, she fell into Steve.
“Politics,” he said with a bright, boyish smile. “Nothing personal, just politics.” Taking her hair, he wrapped it around her throat. “You got caught in the middle, Autumn.” The smile turned into a leer as he tightened the noose. “Too bad.”
Pushing away, she fell through a door. Julia’s back was to her. She wore the lovely, white lace negligee. “Julia!” In the dream, the urgency in Autumn’s voice came at a snail’s pace. “Julia, help me.”
When Julia turned, the slow, cat smile was on her face and the lace was splattered with scarlet. “Bluff and double bluff, darling.” Throwing back her head, she laughed her smoky laugh. With the sound still spinning in her head, Autumn pressed her hands to her ears and ran.
“Come back to mother!” Julia called, still laughing as Autumn stumbled into the corridor.
There was a door blocking her path. Throwing it open, Autumn dashed inside. She knew only a desperate need for escape. But it was Helen’s room. Terrified, Autumn turned, only to find the door closed behind her. She battered on it, but the sound was dull and flat. Fear was raw now, a primitive fear of the dead. She couldn’t stay there. Wouldn’t stay. She turned, thinking to escape through the window.
It wasn’t Helen’s room, but her own. There were bars at the windows, gray liquid bars of rain, but when she ran to them, they solidified, holding her in. She pulled and tugged, but they were cold and unyielding in her hands. Suddenly, Lucas was behind her, drawing her away. He laughed as he turned her into his arms.
“Bite and scratch all you want, Cat.”
“Lucas, please!” There was hysteria in her voice that even the dream couldn’t muffle. “I love you. I love you. Help me get out. Help me get away!”
“Too late, Cat.” His eyes were dark and fierce and amused. “I warned you not to push me too far.”
“No, Lucas, not you.” She clung to him. He was kissing her hard, passionately. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
She surrendered to his arms, to his mouth. Here was her escape, her safety.
Then she saw the scissors in his hand.
Chapter 10
Autumn sat straight up in bed. The film of cold sweat had her shivering. During the nightmare, she had kicked off the sheets and blankets and lay now with only a damp nightgown for cover. Needing the warmth, she pulled the tangled blanket around her and huddled into it.
Only a dream, she told herself, waiting for the clarity of it to fade. It was only a dream. It was natural enough after the late-night conversation with Julia. Dreams couldn’t hurt you. Autumn wanted to hang on to that.
It was morning. She trembled still as she watched the sunlight pour into her window. No bars. That was over now, just as the night was over. The phones would soon be repaired. The water in the ford would go down. The police would come. Autumn sat, cocooned by the blanket, and waited for her breathing to even.
By the end of the day, or tomorrow at the latest, everything would be organized and official. Questions would be answered, notes would be taken, the wheels of investigation would start to turn, settling everything into facts and reality. Slowly her muscles began to relax and she loosened her desperate grip on the blanket.
Julia’s imagination had gotten out of hand, Autumn decided. She was so used to the drama of her profession that she had built up the scenario. Helen’s death was a hard, cold fact. None of them could avoid that. But Autumn was certain her two misfortunes had been unconnected. If I’m going to stay sane until the police come, she amended, I have to believe it.
Calmer now, she allowed herself to think. Yes, there had been a murder. There was no glossing over that. Murder was a violent act, and in this case, it had been a personal one. She had no involvement in it. There wasn’t any correlation. What had happened in the darkroom had been simple clumsiness. That was the cleanest and the most reasonable explanation. As for the invasion of her room . . . Autumn shrugged. It had been Helen.
She’d been a vicious, evil woman. The destruction of Autumn’s clothes and personal belongings had been a vicious, evil act. For some reason of her own, Helen had taken a dislike to her. There was no one else at the inn who would have any reason to feel hostility toward her.
Except Lucas. Autumn shook her head firmly, but the thought remained. Except Lucas. She huddled the blanket closer, cold again.
No, even that made no sense. Lucas had rejected her, not the other way around. She had loved him. And he, very simply, hadn’t loved her. Would that matter to him? The voice in her brain argued with the voice from her heart. Ignoring the queaziness in her stomach, Autumn forced herself to consider, dispassionately, Lucas in the role of murderer.
It had been obvious from the beginning that he was under strain. He hadn’t been sleeping well and he’d been tense. Autumn had known him to struggle over a stage of a book for a week on little sleep and coffee, but he’d never shown the effects. All that stored energy he had was just waiting to take over whenever he needed it. No, in all her memory, she had never seen Lucas McLean tired. Until now.
Helen’s blackmail must have disturbed him deeply. Autumn couldn’t imagine Lucas concerning himself over publicity, adverse or otherwise. The woman involved in divorce must mean a great deal to him. She shut her eyes on a flash of pain and forced herself to continue.
Why had he come to the Pine View Inn? Why would he choose a