by Cate Beauman
“Do you have your cell phone?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes.” Turning, she pointed her ass in his direction. “Right here in my back pocket.”
“Good. Call if you need me.”
“I won’t need you.”
“Never hurts to be prepared,” he said and went back to his suitcase.
“Right.” She stepped out the door onto the balcony shared between the two rooms, breathing in the brisk air as she slid her sunglasses into place in the bright morning sunshine. Sighing, she absorbed the peace of the new day, staring out at the scatter of tall pines cloaked in snow around the property. Had she looked outside twenty-five years ago and seen a sight similar to this? It hurt her heart not to know, to realize she would always be left to wonder.
Neve and Jay had provided their children a big, beautiful home. The pictures in her baby books showed her that Alyson and Noah had been well loved. But that was long over. Neve was gone, she didn’t belong here anymore, and Noah would more than likely sell the place and every memory in it.
She started down the steps, eager to drink it all in and memorize every little detail as she walked the grounds, hoping to spark something she could bring home with her and treasure. Five steps down, she stumbled forward, gasping as she slid on a patch of ice. She grabbed for the railing and lost her grip on the slippery wrought-iron surface, falling hard. Her lower back connected with the concrete edge of the stair, and she jerked, crying out from the shock of pain. Despite her agony, she attempted to clutch the lower rungs of the railing as she careened down the staircase to the ground.
Groaning, she laid where she landed, her heart racing and her wrist throbbing. “Ow,” she shuddered out, moving her limbs, realizing she was okay for the most part as she carefully gained her feet, wincing as her back screamed at her. Slowly, she made her way to the old servants’ quarters door on the ground floor and cautiously climbed the carpeted stairs, hobbling into Chase’s room.
He paused with several clothing items in his hand, frowning as he looked at her. “Finished already?”
“I slipped on some ice and fell down the stairs.”
“What?” He dropped his sweatpants and t-shirts and rushed forward. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. My back’s a little sore and my wrist hurts some.”
He lifted her shirt, wincing as he studied her back. “Jesus, Jules. You’ve got one hell of a bruise.” He examined her wrist, sliding gentle fingers over her skin. “Can you move it?”
She pulled away from his probing hands. “I can, but I don’t want to.”
“I’ll go get you some ice.”
“Thanks.” She sighed as he left and refolded his pants and shirts, putting them in the suitcase with the rest of his belongings. Nibbling her lip, she sat carefully on the edge of the bed, gritting her teeth as she tried to ignore the nauseating ache. She’d never fallen down a flight of stairs before and hoped never to do so again. Only two days ago, she’d hurried down the same set of steps, and she’d been fine.
“Here we go,” Chase said as he walked back into the room. “Lie back.” He helped her settle against the covers and elevated her arm on a pillow, setting the icepack on top of her throbbing wrist.
“Maybe we should take different planes today. With my luck lately, we probably shouldn’t fly together.”
“If we’re going down, we’re going down together.” He kissed her forehead. “Take it easy for a few minutes. I’m gonna treat the steps before we leave so Thomas and Ferra don’t hurt themselves.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Thanks for the ice.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed her again. “I’ll be right back.”
“Be careful.” She stared at the ceiling as he put on his coat and closed the door, hoping this would be her last disaster for a long time to come.
~~~~
Chase slid his sunglasses in place and walked outside with a bucket of ice melt. He scooped up a generous cup full of the coarse crystals and scattered them around the balcony even though the surface was mostly clear. The last thing he wanted was for Ferra or Thomas to step out here and break something on a patch of black ice; although, he was more worried about Julie at the moment than anyone else. At the rate she was racking up injuries, she was bound to end up in the hospital for more than a couple hours of observation in the ER.
He tossed a liberal amount of salt on each step as he started down the stairs, wondering how Julie had hurt herself. There wasn’t any ice. But then he got to the fifth step and frowned at the thick glaze coating the remaining stairs and railing too. He glanced up at the rooftop and his brow creased more. The overhang didn’t extend far enough to create a drip that would cause the stairs to become treacherous, nor were there any other sources he could see that would cause water to fall in this pattern and freeze.
He continued de-icing the steps, taking his time on the way down, rendering the railing useless. There was no way Julie would have been able to catch her fall with the amount of ice covering the wrought iron. When he reached the ground, he picked up Julie’s sunglasses she’d dropped, pausing when he spotted the indents in the snow leading back to the water spigot and bushes bordering the house. “What’s this?” Setting down the bucket, he skirted the shrubbery and crouched down, studying the prints closer, his gaze following the trail around the bend of brick.
Standing, he followed the tracks, noting the outline of footprints to be similar to his own—men’s size ten to ten-and-a-half, but discerning the sole’s pattern was impossible with the way the snow crumbled beneath each of the steps. Stopping at the garden shed, he opened the unsecured door and stepped in, settling his sunglasses on top of his head. He blinked in the dim space, finding the stacks of neatly wrapped hoses tucked in the corner. Narrowing his eyes, he crouched again when he spotted ice puddles on the floor and water droplets frozen to the end of the metal nozzle. “Son of a bitch.”
He secured his glasses in place and walked back out, following the trail, swearing again when the footprints got lost among the tracks he and Julie had created on their many walks. But he stared at the security panel next to the door on the brick wall twenty yards away and hustled back to the hazardous staircase, studying the ten or so steps she’d fallen down. His stomach twisted with fear, knowing her fall could have resulted in far worse injuries than a few nasty bruises and a tender wrist. Her spill could have been deadly. Undoubtedly, whoever accessed the property from the wall door had hoped it would be—someone who knew Julie’s habits and was careless and desperate enough not to take the time to cover their own tracks, literally. “Fuck this.”
He hurried back inside through the old servants’ door and walked down the long hall to the kitchen, more than ready to get to the bottom of this. Each day there were new questions; he needed to clear them up.
Ferra smiled as she cut strawberries. “How’s Ms. Julie feeling after her breakfast?”
“Good.”
“Your cheeks are rosy. Let me get you some coffee.” She set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You’ll warm up quickly with something hot.”
He took off his jacket and draped it over his arm. “I think I’m good.”
“I know why you’ve come down for a visit.”
“You do?” He leaned his hip against the counter, helping himself to a piece of sliced fruit and struggling for patience when he didn’t have a lot.
“Mmm. Questions about the nuts.”
He swiped another strawberry, saying nothing.
“I barely slept a wink last night. Guilt is a mighty retched feeling.” She wagged the knife at him and got back to work. “I racked my brain for hours, trying to figure out what happened, but the fact is, I don’t know. Neither does the staff we employed for Ms. Neve’s memorial.”
He crossed his arms. “What do you think could have happened?”
She grabbed a cantaloupe and cut it in half, blinking rapidly. “I thin
k I must be a careless old fool, Mr. Chase. I think I somehow contaminated my crusts—don’t know how, but clearly I did.” She sliced faster as she sniffled. “I’ll never forgive myself for harming that sweet little lamb upstairs.”
He studied her ridged movements, deciding whether he believed her regret to be genuine. For now, he did. “Accidents happen.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Not like that. Never like that.”
He couldn’t agree more. “When did you make the crusts?”
“The evening before the service. I rolled out the dough and put it on trays like always in preparations for the filling the next morning.”
“Do they sit out on the counter?”
“No. They go in the fridge.”
“There were a lot of people in the house Tuesday—cleaners, security, the caterer.”
“Yes. A mad scramble to make things perfect for Ms. Neve’s goodbye.” Her lips trembled. “She deserved nothing but the best.”
“She got it. You take good care of this house and everyone in it. We’ve loved every meal you’ve made us.” He walked to the coffee pot and poured her a cup, hoping to smooth ruffled feathers. “Here you go.”
She stopped and took the cup. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”
“Any cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.” She sipped.
He settled by the counter again. “Yesterday was pretty hectic.”
“Yes,” she agreed enthusiastically. “Although such functions tend to be.”
“You had your hands full. Did anyone help you with coat duty when everyone was filing in?”
“Yes—Thomas, Becky, even a couple of the girls who helped with the serving stepped in.”
“Becky Maglio?”
“Such a lovely woman. She had a rough go after Ms. Ally vanished—so many accusing her of wrongdoing. Bless her heart.”
Interesting. "Ferra, how many people would you say have the codes to the house here?”
She took another drink. “Codes, Mr. Chase?”
“To the gates and door on the security wall.”
She frowned. “Several, I guess.” Setting down her cup, she picked up her knife and began cutting again. “The same people who’ve always had them.”
“Like who?”
She paused, holding his gaze. “Well, let’s see. Thomas, of course, Noah, Elaine, the gardeners and their lawn service, the chauffer we use—although he only has access to the main gate—the cleaning crew who comes in to help me on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Joanna down at the catering company, several of the men down at BosGuard who do checks from time to time—”
He rubbed at his jaw, realizing the list was extensive and would more than likely get him nowhere. “Did Neve change the code often?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“What about Helen? Did she have the code?”
“Helen?”
“I thought I heard Neve mention someone who used to work here named Helen,” he lied.
“I don’t think we’ve ever had a Helen on staff—certainly not one who would have the codes to the house.”
“Wrong name, I guess.” He crossed his ankles and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Do you happen to know Thomas’s shoe size?”
“Eleven, I believe.”
“What about Noah’s?”
“Nine and a half, or perhaps ten.”
He nodded. “Your room is downstairs. Did you hear anything last night? Outside by the sheds?”
She dumped a rainbow of fruit into a bowl. “Mr. Chase, did something happen?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m just making sure you and Thomas are going to be okay after Jules and I head home.”
She smiled. “You’re a dear, dear boy.”
“Will you stay here with Neve gone?”
“For as long as Mr. Noah will allow. This has been my home for as long as it was Ms. Neve’s and Mr. Jay’s.”
“I hope it all works out.”
“Things always do.” She gave his arm a firm pat.
He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to head up and finish packing.”
“I’ll see you soon with snacks for your journey.”
“Thanks.” He hustled up the steps with absolutely nothing new to work with after his conversation with Ferra and walked into his room where Julie still lay on the bed with the ice on her wrist.
“Did you finish—”
“We’re changing your plane ticket.”
“What?” She sat up with a small grimace.
“You’re coming to California with me for a few days.”
“No, I can’t.” She stood slowly. “I have to go home.”
He shook his head. “Something’s not right. Someone’s trying to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? What are you talking about? Who?”
“I don’t know who yet, which is why I want you with me.”
“Chase, this is absurd. I fell down the stairs.”
He shook his head again. “Yesterday you not only ate something containing nuts, which shouldn’t have even been out in the kitchen in the first place, but then your EpiPen just happened to be missing from your purse.”
“I was careless—”
“Like hell you were. You always have a pen on you. Always, Jules. And someone iced those steps and the railing.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“We haven’t had any precipitation in a few days. The entire rest of the balcony is clear, including the first few stairs, but you get halfway down and the steps and the entire railing is covered in a half-inch coating. There’re tracks to the garden shed and frozen puddles by the hoses—as if one of them was used recently. Probably last night.” He waited for her to say something, but she swallowed as she stared at him. “Please, Jules. Just for a couple of days while I try to get this figured out.”
She crossed her arms. “You really think someone wants to hurt me?”
“I really do.”
“Noah?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s certainly at the top of my list.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
“I want to keep our change of plans between us for now.”
She nodded. “All right.”
“Let’s grab your bag, say goodbye, and get to the airport. I want you out of here.” He wanted her on his turf where he had the upper hand over whoever the hell wanted her dead.
Chapter Forty-one
Julie hummed along with the radio as she drizzled Nana’s homemade vinaigrette over the salad she’d prepared. She gave the bright mix of vegetables a quick toss and set the bowl on the bar Chase used as a table in his sparsely furnished house. The oven timer dinged and she smiled, twisting the knob to “off” as the front door opened and he stepped inside.
He sniffed the air. “Smells good.”
“Chicken stew and biscuits.” She sunk her hands into mitts and pulled the crockery from the oven.
“Sounds good.”
“It should be.” She set the steaming main dish on a folded towel—her makeshift trivet. “It needs a couple of minutes to cool.”
“I think we can handle that.” He walked over to her in his tie and slacks, pulled the mitts off her hands, and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her. “Hi.”
Smiling, she laced her fingers at the back of his neck. “Hi.”
“How’s the wrist and back?”
“Really good—much better.”
“How was your day?”
“Refreshing. I love not having the press following me.”
“I bet.” He slid his hand through her hair. “Hopefully we can keep it that way.”
“Mmm,” she agreed, turning with him in a slow dance.
“How did things go with the ladies?”
“Great.” She beamed. “Wren was really nice, Abby loved her prenatal massage, and Sophie met us for lunch. We talked a little bit about the Alyson Porter Foundation and how I might be able to help Elaine keep it going.”
“Busy day.”
“Yes.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, giddy with a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in weeks. Her second full day in Los Angeles had been amazing. No one from the media bothered her. Thanks to Chase and Thomas’s Thursday afternoon diversion, the reporters still thought she was in Newton, grieving in seclusion behind the gates of the Porter mansion. She’d been able to drive about the Palisades freely and meet a few of Chase’s friends—all in all a great start to her mini California vacation. “Are you ready to eat?”
“Yeah. Definitely. Do you want a glass of wine?”
“That sounds good.”
“I know you prefer red, but I think white will go better with this.” He gestured to their meal as he eased away from her.
“I don’t mind white.” She scooped two portions of chicken, gravy, and biscuits and set their plates on the dishcloths she was using as placemats.
He poured two glasses of buttery-colored liquid and handed her a glass. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“This looks amazing, Jules.” He took his seat on the barstool next to her and served them both salad. “Nana’s vinaigrette.” He nodded his approval. “I could definitely get used to this.”
She gave him a small smile, knowing she could too. For two and a half days, she and Chase had lived together in his cozy two-bedroom house set high enough up in the hills to enjoy a pretty view of the lights below. While he worked during the day, she met up with his co-workers’ wives for private yoga sessions or massages. Abby and Sophie, Morgan, Sarah, and Wren had been so nice. Tomorrow she was slated to meet Alexa for her son’s first infant massage and Hailey for a mommy and me beginner yoga session. “It’s nice. Your friends are wonderful.”
“I can’t complain.”
She bit into her meal, looking around at the empty space. “So Wren and I were talking about your living room.”
He paused with his fork at his mouth. “Oh, yeah?”
“I was telling her about this rug I saw and how I thought it would look great in here. It would pick up the tones in the wood and help give the room a great warm look.”
He swallowed his bite. “Wren’s been bugging me to ‘play’ with this place since I bought it.”