“Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just a little shaky.” Cleo made a valiant effort to pull herself together. “I'm sorry, I'm acting like an idiot, aren't I?”
“No. You're acting like someone who's had a bad scare.”
Cleo straightened, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away from the comforting warmth of his arm. She found a hankie in her pocket and blew into it. Then she took a deep breath.
“The car ran out of gas,” Cleo said in what she thought was a firm, controlled voice. “Only it shouldn't have, because I had just filled the tank. I started walking home. Then I heard the footsteps. I called out. No one answered. I got off the road until whoever it was had passed. That's really all there was to it. I don't know why I freaked.”
Max cut through the rambling explanation. “Where's your car?”
“Back there somewhere. Not far.” Cleo waved vaguely to indicate the road behind her. “I think some kid must have siphoned the gas out of my tank or something.”
“We'll worry about your car later. Right now I want to get you home. Sylvia, Trisha, and the others are starting to get worried.” Max opened the Jaguar's door and ushered her into the warmth.
“I'm sorry everyone's upset,” Cleo mumbled as she relaxed into the warmth of the front seat. She reached for her seatbelt. “I really do feel sort of stupid. I'm sure my imagination just got the better of me.”
“Maybe.” Max got in beside her and started the engine. He put the Jaguar in gear and eased it back onto the road.
“Aren't you going to turn around and drive back to the inn?” Cleo asked.
“I want to make sure your car is far enough off the road. We don't want anyone hitting it in this fog.”
Cleo didn't argue.
A short distance down the road, the Jaguar's headlights picked up the ghostly shape of the Toyota wreathed in fog.
“Let me have your keys.”
“What are you going to do?” Cleo asked as she handed him the keys. “You can't start it. There's no gas.”
“I just want to take a quick look. I'll be right back.”
“Is this another one of those male things?”
Max closed the door without deigning to answer. Cleo sat watching as he went over to the Toyota, opened the door, and got behind the wheel. She waited for the engine to sputter to life and then die, but Max made no move to start the car. He just sat behind the wheel for what seemed like a very long time. She could not tell what he was doing.
Cleo was about to get out of the Jaguar to see what was keeping him, when the Toyota door opened again. She saw that he had a piece of paper in his hand. The uneasiness stirred back to life within her.
Cold air and tendrils of fog swirled into the Jaguar when Max opened the door.
“I found this on the driver's seat.” His eyes were grimly intent as he handed the piece of paper to Cleo. “I assume it wasn't there when you left the car to start walking back to the inn.”
Cleo read the typewritten message on the piece of paper:
The first Cleopatra was a whore. She died the death she deserved.
Chapter
11
O'Reilly, I don't want to hear any more about the lack of results.” Max's voice was low and harsh as he spoke into the phone. He was sitting at the small desk in the attic room. His cane was propped against the back of the chair. “I know you didn't find anything interesting when you ran those names through your computers. I'm telling you that we need a whole new angle on this thing.”
There was a short, taut silence as Max listened to whatever his friend was saying on the other end.
Cleo sat in the middle of Max's bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was still fully dressed and feeling chilled, although the room was pleasantly warm. Max had hustled her straight upstairs to his room the minute they had reached the inn. On the way through the lobby he had told Sylvia, Ben, Trisha, and the others that he would explain everything later. Cleo was starting to fret because she knew the family was downstairs worrying.
“That's right, for all intents and purposes the note sounded like a death threat,” Max said. His jaw tightened as Cleo shuddered. “No, I don't know of anything going on out here that would push some local crazy over the edge. Yes, I'm going to keep an eye on her. No, she's not going to go anywhere alone from now on.”
Cleo opened her mouth to protest that statement, but Max only looked more grimly determined, so she shut it again.
“Yes, I think the case needs a little more in-depth work, myself,” Max said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “And I don't want it put on the back burner. I want top-of-the-line service. All right. We'll see you sometime tomorrow. Make it before noon, O'Reilly.”
He hung up the phone and regarded Cleo with brooding eyes.
Cleo moistened her lower lip. “What did Mr. O'Reilly say?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘You always want top-of-the-line service, you son of a bitch.’”
“Oh.” Cleo smiled ruefully. “I'll bet you always get it, too. There was no need to be rude to Mr. O'Reilly. I'm sure he's doing his best.”
“I wasn't rude, I was firm. He's turned up absolutely nothing so far.”
“He found Ben.”
“That has nothing to do with this other matter.” Max paused thoughtfully. “At least, I don't think it does.”
Cleo straightened her spine, alarmed by the tone of his voice. “Of course it doesn't. How could it?”
“Damned if I know. None of this makes any sense at the moment.” Max grabbed his cane and got to his feet. “Come on, we're going downstairs to let the others know what's happening.”
“Max, I told you, I don't want everyone worrying about this.”
“Too bad. They're going to have to worry about it. I'm going to see to it that everybody worries.”
Cleo frowned. “I think we should keep this between ourselves.”
“I want everyone in the family to know what's going on so that everyone can keep an eye on you.”
“I'll feel like a prisoner.”
“That's the whole idea.” Max crossed the room, reached down, and caught her hand in his. He yanked her lightly up off the bed. “Let's go.”
“I would like to remind you that I'm the one in charge around here.” Cleo went to the door and threw it open with a defiant flourish. It was much easier to feel defiant when you were once again feeling quite safe, she discovered. “I don't recall giving you permission to run things.”
“It must have slipped your mind.” Max herded her out the room. “You've been busy lately.”
“Max, this is not a joke.”
“Christ, Cleo, you don't have to tell me that. You gave me a hell of a scare today. By the way, don't worry about me being in charge for a while around here. I'm good at running things.”
“That's what Kimberly said.”
“Speaking of Kimberly, when did she leave?”
“Right after we had a cozy little chat on the beach.”
“What did you two talk about?” Max urged her down the second flight of stairs.
“You, for the most part.”
“Sounds dull.”
“I assure you, Max, you are never dull.”
They had reached the first floor. Sylvia looked up from behind the desk. She glanced first at Max's set face and then gave Cleo a concerned look.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“No,” Max said. “Everything is not okay. Call the others. I want everyone in the kitchen in five minutes.”
Cleo rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Max. You're carrying this a little too far.”
But Sylvia was already hurrying around the edge of the desk. “I'll find everyone.”
Cleo threw Max a disgusted look as Sylvia dashed down the hall. “No one around here jumps for me like that.”
“It's the difference between our two different management styles,” Max explained. “You operate with what is generally called the consensus style.”
“What do you call your st
yle?” Cleo shoved open the kitchen door. “A dictatorship?”
“Don't knock it. It works.”
“Where did you learn it?”
“From Jason.”
“I don't believe it,” Cleo declared. “I think it comes naturally to you.”
One by one the others gathered in the kitchen. Sammy clung to his mother's hand, his eyes widening as he realized how serious the grown-ups were behaving.
“I don't think we should include Sammy in this,” Cleo whispered uneasily to Max. “He'll be scared.”
“He's part of the family,” Max said. “He already knows something is going on, and if we don't tell him what it is, and that it's under control, he'll be frightened. This way he'll feel included, and he'll know that action is being taken. That should reassure him.”
“Since when did you become an authority on child psychology?” Cleo asked.
Max looked at her. “I was a child once, myself.”
“I find that extremely difficult to believe.”
“I'm not surprised. So do I.”
Cleo watched the expressions on her friends' faces as they gathered around the nook table. Andromeda, Daystar, Trisha, Ben, Sylvia, and little Sammy all glanced first at her with deep concern. They then turned and looked expectantly at Max.
Max wrapped both of his hands around the handle of the hawk-headed cane. He regarded the family with a considering gaze.
“Someone has been threatening Cleo because of the book she wrote,” he said.
Everyone stared at Cleo.
“Good heavens, I don't believe it,” Andromeda said softly. “Cleo? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Andromeda,” Cleo said soothingly. “I'm fine. Max is making a big production out of this.”
Ben put his arm around Trisha and frowned at Max. “What's going on?” he asked.
“Did someone hurt Cleo?” Sammy demanded anxiously.
Max looked down at him. “No,” he said quietly. “And no one is going to hurt her. We are all going to keep an eye on her.”
“Even you?” Sammy asked.
“Especially me,” Max said.
Cleo listened with a growing sense of unreality as Max gave everyone a quick, concise summary of events. They all paid close attention. It was obvious that they were looking to Max for leadership in this crisis. No one questioned his authority.
It occurred to Cleo that somewhere along the line Max had become a very important part of the family. Today he had even begun to challenge her own role as the head of the clan. She realized that she would have to make some adjustments if Max stayed on at Robbins' Nest Inn.
In a flash of rueful insight Cleo suddenly understood why Kimberly and her family had refused to give Max a seat on the Curzon board. He would have ended up running the company in short order.
Forming a partnership with Max was going to be an interesting challenge, Cleo thought.
She watched, impressed in spite of herself, as Max took complete control of the situation in the kitchen and managed to reassure everyone, including Sammy.
“O'Reilly will arrive tomorrow,” Max concluded. “He's a first-class private investigator. He'll want to interview everyone, including all of us.”
“But we don't know anything about these strange incidents,” Andromeda said unhappily. “What can we tell him?”
“Just answer his questions,” Max instructed. “O'Reilly knows how to do his job. In the meantime, we all have a job to do, too. From now on, Cleo is not going to leave the inn alone. Clear? I want someone with her any time she steps foot outside the inn's front door.”
Cleo roused herself for another weak protest. “Max, that's taking things too far. I'll be careful, I promise.”
“The way you were this afternoon?” he asked bluntly.
Cleo glared at him. “I didn't know the situation was going to get this bad.”
“Exactly.” Max turned back to the others and surveyed them with the air of a commander sending troops into battle. “Is everyone straight about this? Cleo does not leave the inn alone.”
“Got it,” Ben said. “We'll keep an eye on her.”
Sylvia nodded. “Don't worry, we'll make sure she's never alone.”
“What happens if she goes outside by herself?” Sammy demanded.
Max raised a brow. “If you see Cleo disobeying orders, you come and tell me right away. Understand?”
“Will you make her go into her room for a time out?” Sammy inquired with grave interest. “That's what Mommy does to me when she gets mad at me.”
“I might do just that,” Max said. “Only I think I'll make her go to my room instead of her own room.”
For some reason that sent Sammy off into a gale of giggles.
“Sheesh,” Cleo muttered. “I'm going to go crazy.”
Trisha smiled at her. “Don't worry, we won't let you go crazy alone.”
The blood was everywhere. So much blood. It had soaked into the carpets and spattered against the walls. It had saturated her mother's dress and pooled beneath her father's head. Too much blood. The smell of it made her sick to her stomach. The sight of it drove her to the edge of sanity.
Cleo opened her mouth to scream and discovered that she was voiceless. She struggled to escape the evil room and realized she could not move. She was trapped.
“Cleo. Cleo, wake up. You're dreaming.”
Max's voice cut through the gossamer strands of horror that had been used to weave Cleo's nightmare. She opened her eyes and saw him looming over her. He had his hands on her shoulders, pinning her against the pillows.
Reality emerged from the whirling mist of red that clouded her mind. She was safe in the attic room with Max. She was not alone.
For the first time, she was not alone when she awoke from the dream.
“Max?”
“It's all right, Cleo. I'm here.”
“Oh, God.” She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, just as she did when she was meditating. “Sorry. I don't get the dreams very often, but when I do, they make me a little wild.”
“What dreams?” Max released his grip on her shoulders, but he did not move away from her. He remained where he was, half covering her with his warm, comforting weight.
“I don't like to talk about them. I tried that with the therapist. But talking about them only makes them seem worse.” Cleo shuddered beneath Max's weight. The heat and strength of him enfolded her in a snug, secure haven. She was not alone tonight. Max was with her.
She made a soft little sound and closed her arms around his neck. Then she turned her face into his bare shoulder and let the tears fall.
Max said nothing. He simply held her close and let her cry until the storm had passed. When it was all over, he kept her cradled against him. His hand moved slowly along her arm.
“Your parents?” he asked at last.
“Yes.” Cleo hesitated. “I was the one who found them. Sometimes I dream about it.”
“Jesus, Cleo.” Max continued to stroke her gently. “I'm so damned sorry.”
“It's been four years. But the dreams, when they come, are just as bad as ever. My therapist said I might have them occasionally for the rest of my life, especially if I'm under stress.”
“Which you are right now, thanks to whoever is leaving those notes around.” Max's voice was gritty with suppressed anger. “I'm looking forward to getting my hands on the bastard.”
“Max?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for coming after me this afternoon.”
“Next time you get into the car, check the gas gauge.”
Cleo smiled wryly. “My father used to do that.”
“What? Check the gas gauge?”
“No, lecture me or my mother after the crisis was past. It was as if he was angry at us for having gotten into trouble in the first place. I remember my mother had her purse snatched once. Afterward Dad chewed her out something fierce for not being more careful.”
“He was mad at himself,
not her,” Max said quietly. “He hadn't been able to protect her, and it scared him.”
“That's what Mom said.”
“When men get scared, they usually get mad,” Max said.
“A male thing?”
Max smiled faintly into the shadows. “Probably.”
Cleo snuggled closer. “Max, there's something I've been wanting to ask you.”
“I hope this is not about my relationship with Kimberly,” he warned. “Because I really don't want to talk about that anymore.”
“It's not about that.” Cleo wrinkled her nose. “I told you, Kimberly and I have already had a long discussion on that subject.”
“Why do women always have to get together and talk about their relationships with men?” Max asked, disgusted.
“Who knows? It's a female thing, I guess. Are you going to lie there and tell me men never talk about their relationships with women?”
“Never,” Max said. “I think it's against the code or something.”
“Like heck it is. Never mind. What I want to know is, why did you pack your things and put them in your car before you left to find Ben yesterday?”
Max was very still. “I didn't think I'd be staying here unless I brought Ben back with me.”
That was not the answer Cleo had been expecting. She turned on her side and levered herself up on her elbow to look down at Max. In the shadows it was difficult to read his expression. “What do you mean? What did Ben have to do with whether or not you stayed with us?”
Max looked up at her, his gaze shuttered. “Coming back without Ben meant I'd failed.”
“So?”
Max threaded his fingers lightly through her hair. “I knew how much everyone had counted on my being able to convince Ben to come back. I knew the odds were against it, even if the rest of you didn't. I figured I'd never pull it off.”
“So?”
Max shrugged. “I wasn't sure how you and the rest of the family would feel about me if I screwed up that badly.”
Cleo was horrified. “Are you telling me you thought we wouldn't want you to stay with us just because you weren't able to bring Ben back?”
Max gave her an unreadable look. “It's been my experience that people only want you around as long as you can do something for them.”
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