Jen didn’t know what to call this angry old woman. Certainly not Mother as David did, and an actress of Jennette’s strength of character – of her strength of character – wouldn’t still be calling her Mrs. Kenting. Adelia? Yes, somehow, she knew instinctively that it would gall such a proud woman to be forced onto an equal first-name basis with her despised daughter-in-law.
“Hello, Adelia.” As she stepped to the armchair and sat, she saw with satisfaction the look of distaste on the woman’s face. “Yes, I do seem to have carelessly misplaced my memory, but the doctors tell me that I should recover it completely, probably in the near future, possibly not.”
“But there is a chance that you will never remember?”
“Yes.”
The old woman nodded. “That is what David has told me.” She stared into the fire without speaking and the silence stretched almost to breaking point. Then Jen realized that Adelia was watching from the corner of her eye. Hmm, it is to be a test of wills, is it? Sitting back into her chair, Jen crossed her legs comfortably and waited. It was Adelia who finally spoke.
“You’ve changed.”
“Amnesia will do that to a person.”
“Before the accident, you would have been out of that chair demanding that I get to the point, anxious to be back to the ‘important work’ of making movies.”
“I have no memory of life here before the accident,” Jen smiled, “but I will indulge you if you wish. Why did you ask me to come here?”
Adelia’s eyes were shrewd. “We’ve had our differences over the years, Jennette. I’ve never liked you and you’re not the wife I would have chosen for David, but he was head over heels in love with you and there was no reasoning with him. Be that as it may, you have a daughter now, my granddaughter, and I’m worried about her. I want you to agree to send her to live with David’s sister in Santa Barbara.”
“Anna? Why, for heaven’s sake? Why shouldn’t she live here with her father and mother … with m-me?” Jen stared at her hands, furious with herself for stammering. Get a grip!
“With you?” Adelia was saying. “With your loud parties and your strange friends and your working all hours of the day and night? What kind of life is that for a small child? It’s not good for her, not healthy. She should be with Danielle.” Adelia stopped to catch her breath. Her hand shook as she reached toward a small plate on the table beside her.
Jen watched as she picked up a pill and swallowed it with a sip of tea. She’s a sick, bitter woman, she frowned, and she may hate her son’s wife, but she loves her granddaughter. “I don’t know David’s sister.”
“Of course, you know her. She was one of your bridesmaids.”
“I don’t know her. If I have no memory of the wedding, I can hardly be expected to remember the bridesmaids.” The room was too warm. She stood up to move away from the fire. “I have a feeling that this is not the first time we’ve had this conversation. You’ve made it clear that you don’t like me much, and frankly I don’t know how I feel about you. We seem to want different things for Anna, but I believe that you and I both care about her, each of us in her own way. I can’t possibly make this big a decision right now, so I will promise you this, and only this. Until I am myself again, there’ll be no loud parties and no working crazy hours. There may be a few strange friends, but they’ll be nice friends or they won’t be asked back.” She hesitated, waiting for a reply, then turned to leave.
“Will you give me your arm down to dinner, Jennette?”
Jen turned back. “Of course, Adelia.” She moved to gently help the older woman out of her chair.
Standing and leaning heavily on her cane, she looked up to give Jen a long look. “You have changed.”
Chapter Seven
Jen climbed wearily into bed thinking back on the evening. Adelia had taken her arm as they walked down the long, curved hallway, but when Jen would have continued to the bridge, Adelia stopped at a door that Jen hadn’t seen earlier. Where her own wing had a side stairway, here the staircase had been replaced with a miniature elevator. They had ridden it down in silence and still in silence, joined the others in the living room for sherry before dinner.
Jen was pleased to see that Brad was there again but only smiled and nodded to the man with him, being careful to say nothing until Brad had called him Edward, giving Jen a lead by casually mentioning his connection to Kenting Industries. He was one of David’s vice-presidents. Jen had said very little, listening to the men discuss an apartment high-rise that the company was building. She was surprised to hear Adelia comment on the project by asking several very astute questions and even disagreeing with David on a complex financial issue. It was a dimension of her mother-in-law’s personality that she hadn’t expected.
When they had gone in to dinner, she’d paused, without thinking, to let Adelia sit at the end of the long table, then had stopped herself. This was her house and that was her chair. She moved smoothly around the older woman to take the hostess’s place. It was the right thing to do and she breathed a small sigh of relief as David helped his mother into the chair facing their guests. She’d let the conversation flow around her – contributing only short, polite answers to questions from Brad and Edward – and was thinking of going up to her room at the end of the meal when Adelia spoke.
“We will have coffee in the living room. Jennette will pour out for us, as she always does, since I can no longer manage. Edward, will you give me your arm?”
Jen had felt like a schoolgirl under the watchful eye of a stern headmistress as she sat in a straight chair at the side table in the living room, a gleaming sterling silver coffee service on a large tray with a bewildering array of bowls, pitchers and china in front of her. She’d gotten through the ordeal with nervous shaking hands but had bitten her lip, furious, when Adelia said acidly, “Jennette, you are all thumbs this evening. Please don’t chip the Spode. As you know, it was my grandmother’s.”
And like a schoolgirl, she had escaped as soon as she politely could.
Listening to the rain beating against the windows, she laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, wearier than she remembered being. Had she ever been this weary? With only the first eighteen years of her life as a guide, she didn’t know. She fell asleep to the sound of distant thunder, moving restlessly as disjointed images merged and scattered in her mind.
It was dark as she floated under the branches, but she could see a little shingled house below her. There were no sounds and it was peaceful, almost enjoyable, floating there looking down at grass and path and roof. Movement pulled her gaze from the squat stone chimney. She watched. As if in slow motion a woman stumbled, rolled, slammed in silence against a tree. Then there was too much noise and a brilliant flash …
Jen woke with a start, trying to catch hold of the dream that slipped away like fine sand through her fingers. The room was grey with early dawn, drapes and bedspread a darker grey against the pale carpet. Through the window, she could see black trees rising up the grey hillside. Throwing back the covers, she crossed the room to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, ran quick hands through her hair. Pulling on jeans, sneakers and a heavy sweater, she grabbed her cape and, running lightly along the hall and down the stairs, she slipped quietly out the back door.
The path was there at the far end of the garage and wrapping the cape around her against the chill of early morning, she climbed up through the woods. She could feel her heart beating and in spite of the cold, her bangs were damp against her forehead. Where the path emerged into a small clearing, the sky was lighter, making it easier to see.
Her feet slowed as she followed the path across the open space and stopped where it ended at a square of blackened stones with the jagged remains of a stone fireplace pointing an ominous warning at the last of the morning stars. They winked out one by one in the brightening sky above. The charred trunks and branches surrounding the clearing gleamed black from the night’s rain.
Jen felt a wave of nausea overp
ower her and she lowered herself weakly to sit on the low wall, her head in her hands. It hadn’t been a dream – not a story someone had told her that she’d woven into a dream – not a scene from a movie. It had happened. Sitting there surrounded by the ruins of the cabin, it was suddenly and frighteningly real. Someone had tried to kill her.
Only those minutes at the cabin were clear in her mind, standing out in high relief against a background of shadowy fear. She hadn’t finished the brandy, and this had saved her life. Someone had followed her to turn on the gas and turn off the lamp, confident that she’d be deeply asleep. But she’d wakened, had gotten out in time.
Who? Who hated her enough to kill her or would profit from her death? Adelia, David, Brad, even Nikki and Aaron – they had all been there that evening. It couldn’t have been Adelia, but Thelma? The housekeeper had made no effort to hide her dislike. If Adelia had asked for her help, Jen thought it likely that she would have readily agreed.
Taking several deep breaths, she stood to look at the small sad square of stones and the fallen blocks of masonry. This was all that remained of the cabin. The police had taken what they needed, and the rest of the wreckage had been hauled away. The circle of trees that had been destroyed stood starkly in the cold morning light against the mass of grey-green leaves behind them. But for the constant rains, the entire hillside might have burned. And because of the rain, there had been no danger to the rest of the estate. The danger had been meant for her alone.
Jen shivered and pulled the cape close. Running away was not an option, not this time. She had to stay even though whoever it had been might try again, but at least she was forewarned. Someone had a strong motive for wanting her dead. If she could just discover what that motive was? She left the clearing and walked down the path to the house. She would have to play a waiting game, continue to learn as much as she could about each one of them, try to see past the shadows that surrounded her.
It was eight-thirty when she came downstairs again, dressed for her appointment with the surgeon. She heard Betsy’s voice in the room across from David’s office and walked to the open doorway.
“Miss Colson, I was just going to make up a tray for you.”
“Good morning and thank you, but I’ll eat here.” She served herself from the sideboard at one end of the room and sat while Betsy began to clear away the platters.
“Do you live on the estate?” she asked.
“Oh, no, ma’am. I leave at four each day unless there’s a party and Mrs. Brown needs help in the kitchen.”
“Mrs. Brown is the cook?”
Betsy nodded. “She lives in an apartment over the garage, and the new gardener, his name’s Luke, he’s staying in one of the small rooms up there until he can find a place of his own. Ellen sleeps on the third floor in your wing. She takes care of Anna. I should call her Miss Thampsen, but she’s only three or four years older than me and we’re friends. I think Luke’s got a crush on her,” she grinned. “He’s only been here a week, but he always seems to be out by the garage when she drives Anna to school and back.”
“And Mrs. Grider has a room upstairs.”
“Yes, she’s on the third floor close to the elevator in case Mrs. Kenting needs her during the night.”
“Is that everyone?”
“Except for Mrs. Beall and Mrs. Gonzales, but they only come three days a week to help with the heavy cleaning and to take care of the laundry, and Mr. Gonzales is the head gardener.” Then she added casually, “Oh, and his son, Miguel.”
Jen glimpsed a delicate pink creeping up Betsy’s neck before the girl ducked her head to pick up the loaded tray. “Does Miguel come every day to work with his father?”
“That’s right, and sometimes he chauffeurs for Mrs. Kenting. I’ll be right back.” She turned around to push through the swing door into the kitchen and Jen smiled to herself as she finished eating. Luke wasn’t the only one with a crush, it seemed.
A few moments later, Betsy came back for the rest of the dishes and Jen stood up. “Could I have some coffee to take with me?”
“Sure thing. I’ll get it for you.”
While Jen waited, she looked around for the keys and saw a long rack by the door with at least a dozen hooks. Each hook had a little label above it – house, office, garage, cars, sheds – and each one had keys dangling from them, except the one labeled cabin.
Betsy came back carrying an insulated mug. “The coffee’s black, like you like it, and it’s still pretty hot, so I left the slide open on the top.”
“Thank you. If anyone’s looking for me, I’ll be out in my office. Could you bring me a light lunch around eleven? I have to go into town at noon.”
“Of course, Miss Colson, same as always?”
Jen thought about the salad and diet soda of the previous day with a sigh. “I think I’ll need a sandwich as well. It’s going to be a long afternoon.” Dropping the keys for the Mercedes into her purse, she thanked Betsy and left.
She’d decided that with Colleen gone, she might as well enjoy the peaceful quiet of the office one more time before her hectic business life began again. After she had filled out the doctor’s forms, added a cover letter and faxed the sheets off to him, she looked through the photos in the packet. Yes, they would do. Picking up the script, she tried to read but her mind kept returning to the clearing on the hillside, and she sat for a long time looking out the windows.
Although she could envision Adelia and Thelma plotting together, David was the obvious choice – if she had to choose. He’d been hard and unfeeling toward her until the warning from Brad, and she couldn’t trust what little thawing she’d seen. There was an insincerity about it that troubled, even frightened her. His cold belief in her infidelity had been echoed in Nikki’s comments about the young actor. Had there been others? Because she knew nothing of her life and actions before the accident, she couldn’t defend herself. Perhaps she had no defense. Perhaps it was true.
If it were, and the deep caring love of the photograph had turned to hatred or worse, to indifference, was David capable of simply disposing of an unfaithful wife in order to regain control of the stock he had given her? Jen had sensed a ruthlessness in him when he had talked about Kenting Industries and his various business dealings. It was possible that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
But the spouse is always the first to be suspected. That could be why the gas explosion had been so carefully planned to look like an accident. The police would have had the lab report and David would have acted the part of the grieving but stoic husband. Even if they’d had their suspicions about him, there would have been little they could do.
Jen thought of Nikki. Although acting would not have come naturally to David, the actress would have thrown herself enthusiastically into the role of the distraught woman devastated by the tragic loss of her beloved friend. But from what Jen had seen, Nikki didn’t really care about anyone but Nikki, and the note clipped to the screenplay implied that their acting talents were similar. With Jennette Colson out of the way, Veronica Hall would expect to inherit the limelight, and the word ruthless might have been coined with her in mind. Jen wondered how many parts she’d been given for which Nikki had also auditioned. Deep envy could be as strong a motive for her as financial gain would be for David.
Jen knew little about Brad, nothing of Aaron Klinger, and had no idea who else might hate her enough to want her dead. Her headache showed signs of returning and she wouldn’t think about it any longer. Reaching for the script, she re-read the bathroom scene, chuckled over it again, and was soon caught up in the author’s well-paced dialogue. She continued reading over lunch, but still hadn’t finished when it was time to leave for town.
* * *
“Please have a seat, Miss Colson, the doctor will be right with you.” The nurse went out, closing the door behind her, and Jen pulled off her scarf and sunglasses to sit in a comfortable chair. On the wall behind the desk was an impressive array of diplomas from some of th
e most prestigious universities and hospitals in the country, and each certificate had been awarded to an Aloysius Bartholomew Smith. Jen chuckled, thinking that his parents had rather overcompensated for the ordinary last name.
“My father’s name was John and my mother’s was Mary.”
He was behind her and she turned, embarrassed, as he reached to shake her hand. “Everyone does it,” he smiled, “so you mustn’t apologize. As a kid, it wasn’t an easy name to live down, but I get a kick out of it now. That’s why my stationery and all the office forms have only my initials. I love seeing a stranger’s reaction. My colleagues just call me Al.”
“I think I’ll stick with Dr. Smith,” Jen laughed.
“And I must call you Miss Colson,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as he rounded the desk to sit across from her. “Not embarrassed anymore? Good. Having established a proper doctor-patient relationship, we can now progress to the business at hand.” And he surprised her by immediately standing up again. “This desk is too wide and your nose too far away, wouldn’t you agree? Bring your photos and we’ll adjourn to the examining room. I received your fax and the letter. It explained everything, and all of my people are very discreet. We will shield you from the press. No one will know that the surgery has been completed until you feel that you are ready to be seen and photographed.”
He ushered her into a chair in the adjoining room and looked through the photos she had brought. Then tilting a strong light toward her face, he gently removed the bandage. “Yes, I see the problem,” the twinkle was back, “but you are not to worry. It’s a relatively simple procedure, and I’ve already examined the X-rays.” He studied the photos again, looked at her face, made measurements. When he had finished, he sat back. “There are several breaks in the bones, and we mustn’t give them any more time to set in the wrong positions. Will tomorrow be too soon for you?”
Jen breathed a sigh of relief. “The sooner, the better, Dr. Smith.”
A Dizzying Balance Page 7