Endless Fear

by Adrianne Lee

  He clapped August on the shoulder and steered him toward the kitchen. “Listen, I’ll take care of getting an electrician over here first thing tomorrow.”

  “Good. Then I won’t bother Karl about it.”

  * * * *

  Without bothering to remover her robe or slippers, April dropped to her bed, flung her arm over her head and stared at the ceiling. Her emotions felt gridlocked, jammed together so fiercely she couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Had Spencer heard the voice in the basement, too? Or had he been the one taunting her? A shiver zigzagged up her spine, but she couldn’t quite accept the picture of Spence as a Jekyll and Hyde.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes, and skimmed a fingertip over still-tender lips. What kind of picture could she accept of him? A young man caught in a torrid affair with an older woman—her mother? That image disheartened her, but it hadn’t kept her safe form his wiles. Whenever he so much as looked at her, touched her, she turned to putty for his molding. Her mouth compressed in annoyance. God, when she pondered the easy way she’d surrendered to his polish, his proficiency—both obviously attained through their years of separation—it was laughable.

  She was definitely too naïve for her own good. Rolling to her side, she kicked off her slippers. There was a time, they’d both been naïve, a time his kiss….. The half-finished thought startled April. She sat up and stared at the opposite wall, consumed by a memory. Since she’d returned to Calendar House, Spencer had kissed her twice, but somewhere in the past he had kissed her before. Strange, she hadn’t recalled it sooner, but remembered it now…vividly.

  Dropping back to her pillow, she closed her eyes again. She’d been fourteen, he eighteen. And she could see the mixture of eagerness and shyness on his face as clearly as though they were once again standing beneath the basement stairs.

  Spencer had held her hands in both of his. Staring at their twined fingers, he’d said, “In four months, I’ll be graduating. At the end of summer, I’m going to college. Every day the thought of being away from you eats at me. But my feelings for you are way out of line. You’re young enough to be hurt by me and that’s the last thing I want. I love you, April. And I’m willing to wait for you—if you’ll just say the word.” Only then did his eyes seek hers, pleading for understanding, praying for affirmation.

  She felt as though her heart might burst with joy. “I love you too, Spence. Please wait. I’ll grow up as fast as I can.”

  His face lit up. Holding her only by the hands, he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was as light and golden as the morning sun stroking the glistening waters of Haro Strait, sealing the promise of their tender love.

  But fate had had other plans in store for them. Regret brought a sting of tears to April’s eyes. She swallowed hard and swiped her cheeks. At least, no one could ever again take this sweet memory from her.

  Clandestine. Her eyes flew open. Why did that word hover about a recollection of one harmless kiss? What wasn’t she remembering? Lily. It had to be. Everything always came back to Lily. A frustrated sigh shoved through her pursed lips. Clamping her eyes shut, she struggled to hold onto the memory, expand her recall past the kiss to whatever had occurred next. For once her sub-conscious cooperated.

  Lost in the aftermath of their kiss, they hadn’t noticed the kitchen door creak open. But the tap-tap of high heels on the landing above made them jump apart.

  A sultry voice drifted down to them. The person was humming noisily like someone walking in the woods at night, trying to scare away any frightening animals. April’s eyes widened in horror. Her mother. If Lily so much as suspected about Spencer and her, the woman would do her best to ruin everything. Frantic, April implored in a whisper, “She mustn’t find us like this. Oh, please, Spence. Do something.”

  “Wait here. I’ll go up and see if I can get her into the living room. Then you can go up the back stairs.”

  Nodding silently, she retreated into the shadows and listened to the clump of his shoes ascending the risers. When he was halfway up, she heard her mother say, “Oh darling, you startled me. I need a little winey-poo for my empty glass. Lord, I didn’t know how I was going to manage that scary wine cellar alone, but as you can see, I’m desperate. Come along, darling.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Lily?”

  “Well, maybe you’re right, darling. What do you suggest instead?’

  There was a rustle of fabric and then silence. April crept from her hiding place. The scene that met her eyes set her back on her heels. Spencer was kissing her mother.

  Slowly opening her eyes, April returned to the present, wrenched to a sitting position and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Her heart was hammering like a riveter’s gun. Confused and hurt, she shook her head, trying to understand. How could he have professed such love for her one minute, then immediately thrown himself at Lily?

  Suddenly, Jekyll and Hyde didn’t seem so farfetched. The more she learned, the more it looked like Spencer was the poet in the Garrick family. With a heavy heart, she reached for the book on the bedside table.

  The author’s smiling countenance stared up at her. Odd. Hadn’t she left the novel lying the other side up? A chill slithered across her flesh as she pulled the book into her lap and began flipping through the pages. Where are they? Gripping the spine, she shook the book. No poems.

  The slam of the novel hitting the table exploded in the small room. Spencer. So, he’d been reading when the lights went out and gone to check the switches, had he? Hah! More likely, he knew he’d find her in the basement because he’d been the one she’d heard coming down the hall. He must have seen her slip into the back stairwell and taken advantage of her absence to steal the poems. Well, wasn’t it fortunate, she no longer needed the stupid things to confirm his affair with Lily? Instead, she had her own precious memories to recount. This time the tears at the back of her eyes evaporated in anger.

  Male voices sounded in the hallway outside her room, and April realized her father and Spencer were passing by. She sprang from the bed and flung open the door. Both men stopped and cast curious looks over their shoulders in her direction.

  As calmly as possible, she said, “Spence, could I have a word with you?”

  The expression on her face told him she was waging some kind of inner struggle, but the glint of anger in her lovely aqua eyes said it was nothing like the battle going on inside himself. The worry he’d felt since August’s strange news about the breaker switch continued to churn his gut, while April looked simply angry. And he figured he knew why. Although he’d tried not to disturb anything, she’d probably discovered her room had been searched. Still, she couldn’t know by whom.

  “Good night, you two,” said August, already heading along the hall. “Oh, and Spence, be sure you take care of that little matter we discussed first thing tomorrow.”

  “You bet. Good night.”

  “‘Night, Daddy.”

  In three short strides, Spencer covered the distance to April, braced his palm against the jamb and smiled into her upturned face. Knowing full well what her answer would be, he asked anyway, “Now, what couldn’t wait until morning?”

  April motioned him inside, then shut the door and stood with her back propped against its solid core. As though the feel of the cold knob against her hand would keep her in tune with the cold reality of the situation, she clung to it. But there was something unnerving about being alone with Spencer in this intimate space, something about his lazy smile that had her desperately clutching to her anger. “You were in here—going through my things while I was downstairs, weren’t you?”

  The bitterness in her accusation set his conscience squirming. He licked his dry tongue across drier lips. She’d offered no evidence of his guilt and until she did, he intended to deny it. Gently slapping the flashlight against his palm, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her gaze flicked from the flashlight to his face. “I imagine that innocent look wins you all ki
nds of votes, but you forget I’m not one of your constituents.”

  Spencer winced inwardly. Nothing better than a deserved insult to make a man really feel like a heel. If only his priorities started with telling her the truth. But they didn’t. “April, I’m very tired….”

  “So am I. Tired of this runaround.” She drew a shaky breath and tightened her grip on the door knob. “You searched my room, didn’t you?”

  “Why would I do that?” He managed to sound genuinely perplexed.

  For one split second, her confidence wavered. Maybe he didn’t know she’d taken the poems from the trunk, and she was walking into a trap of her own setting. The she noticed the scarlet tinge on his ear-tips. Damn. He was lying again. “You did it to find and take the poems. They’re mine and I want them back. Now.”

  “What?” The flashlight froze above his palm as his mouth gaped and his eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you saying someone stole the poems from this room?” His voice had risen unnervingly louder with each word.

  April was less impressed with this new act than she’d been with the previous one. The only way he could be certain the poems were in her possession was if he’d gone back to the trunk to get them himself. Smug sarcasm vibrated from her narrowed eyes, the tilt of her head. “And we both know who has them now.”

  The one thing he knew was that April was wrong. “I swear I did not take those poems from this room.”

  Rolling her eyes, she jerked open the door. “First you lied about writing them, now this. Good night, Spence.”

  As much as he hated letting her thing him a complete cad, what could he say in his own defense? He had acted like a jerk, pawing through her clothes, violating her possessions with his uninvited touch. Hating himself, he mumbled good night and escaped into the hall. Thane. When he got his hands on him….. Gripping the flashlight as though it were his brother’s neck, he stalked to his bedroom.

  Thane stopped pacing the moment Spencer entered the room, but Spencer gave his twin no chance to speak. “I told you to stay away from April’s room.”

  “What the hell are you crabbing about?”

  Trying to school his anger, Spencer tightened his strangle-hold on the flashlight, and spoke through clenched teeth. “The poems!”

  The mystified look on Thane’s face pricked an uneasy path over Spencer’s nerve endings. “You went to her room and found them—right?”

  “Exactly how would I have managed that? The lights went out right after you left.” He threw his arms up in a gesture of frustration. “And you have my flashlight.”

  For a whole five seconds, the two men stared at each other as reality sank in. A lead weight seemed to settle on Spencer’s shoulders. He dropped to the bed. The flashlight rolled from his slack hand. “Well, if you don’t have the poems and I don’t have the poems….”

  Thane’s face was ashen. “Then who does?”

  Chapter Ten

  Pulling up a chair, Thane collapsed into it, and repeated, “Who could have taken the poems?”

  Spencer fixed his gaze on the face so similar to his own, suspecting his complexion matched the pasty shade he saw on his twin. “I think a better question is who else knew that the poems had been found?”

  Thane’s eyes flashed wide, exuding sudden comprehension. “You mean—who did she talk to about them?” His head bobbed. “But of course, she must have. Lord, you don’t suppose she told August?”

  The thought had occurred to Spencer for no more than seconds before he’d discarded it. “I doubt it. She loves her father. Telling him would only be cruel. Besides, August was too normal just now. No man with his lack of guile could hide that kind of disappointment, or disgust.” His mouth felt dry with self-loathing.

  The strained voice that came out of Thane sounded unfamiliar. “Then who did she tell?”

  Spencer released a loud, frustrated sigh. “The only way to find out would be to ask her. And, frankly, bro, after the scene we just played, I don’t think she’d tell me the truth. You didn’t see the look on her face. She was furious. She accused me of lying and threw me out of her room. Hell, she thinks I took the poems.”

  “We can’t do anything about that now.”

  Scowling, Spencer started to protest, but Thane pushed ahead before he had the chance to interject a word. “If either of us broaches the subject to her, even once more, Lord knows what kind of suspicions will occur to her—or how she’ll act on them. “

  The logic of this brought Spencer to his feet. He stalked to the window, threw aside the drapes and stared unseeingly at his reflection. The odors of wet glass and dusty cloth were lost on him, as was the muted howl of the wind against the pane. The only thing he could relate to was the fly struggling to free itself from the spider-web angled against the sill. He too was caught in a web, a web of his own making. “If we hadn’t been so intent on keeping this whole mess a secret, we wouldn’t have woven ourselves into this trap.”

  “Hindsight is a waste of time.”

  “True.” Spencer dropped the curtain and spun around. “Why would someone else be interested enough in those poems to steal them? What purpose could they have in mind?”

  Thane lurched to his feet. “You think the person who stole the poems intends to show them to Vanessa and tell her about Lily’s penchant for young men, don’t you?”

  “You’d better beat the person to it.”

  “How can I?” Thane groaned.

  He’d rarely seen his brother show so much emotion. Struggling to keep his own wits, he reasoned with him. “I don’t think you’re giving your fiancée enough credit. Vanessa is a modern woman. And given her background, she’s not likely to air the family’s dirty linen in public.”

  Pacing, Thane seemed to mull this over. Finally, he ground to a halt in front of Spencer. “But, what if she calls off the wedding? I’ll--I’ll--I don’t know what I’ll do. I love her.”

  Clapping his brother on the shoulder, Spencer said, “I know, but what if—down the road—she discovers your marriage is based on half truths…?”

  Pain registered in Thane’s eyes as he tugged his fingers through his mussed hair. “You’re right. She deserves to know what she’s getting into. I’ll have to find the right opportunity…tomorrow….”

  Relief and dismay twisted in Spencer’s gut. How nice it would be to unload his own burden of guilt, but he couldn’t take the same route as his brother. Thanks in large part to himself, April wasn’t a modern, worldly woman. He couldn’t see her accepting the twins’ duplicity as easily as Vanessa, or accepting a young man’s first experience with lust. Not when it involved her mother.

  Intuitively, Thane said, “Don’t worry about April. She’ll come around.”

  For a fleeting moment, Spencer considered imparting his worry about the lights being put out on purpose, but decided he was probably jumping to erroneous conclusions. The thought of one of his family deliberately trying to harm another struck him as downright unbelievable. Anyway, his brother had enough to sleep on for one night. There was no sense stirring up trouble. He’d keep his suspicions to himself, at least until he heard the electrician’s report.

  * * * *

  It was nearly noon when April entered the kitchen. Two days remained until the engagement party, and activities abounded in a noisy frenzy. The tantalizing smell of baking bread permeated the room. Helga punched at a bowl of rising dough and July, with flour dusting her arms to the elbows and an apron shielding her clothes, assisted. Karl was sharpening knives. The metal scraping against metal pulled a shiver down April’s spine. Cynthia and her father were going over the wines to be served, while Thane and Vanessa painstakingly lettered place cards. Spencer was on the telephone.

  “Good morning,” April murmured, feeling self-conscious as all heads turned toward her and responded in kind.

  Only one person in the room forced the greeting, barely managing to mask shock and agitation behind a cheery smile. That person presumed April’s absence this morning was a direct resul
t of the scare she’d undergone in the basement less than twelve hours ago. That person took for granted she’d been found, cowering and whimpering like she had when Lily died.

  What the hell had gone wrong this time? the person wondered, breathing slightly faster than regular, studying April with an appraising glance. Except for the flush coloring her cheeks, she looked extremely normal. One hundred percent sane. Damn.

  The person returned to the task at hand, broodingly. April had been such a meek, submissive child; one assumed she would be even more malleable after her years of catatonia. Anger gave way to mounting fear. Selling short the young woman’s mental strength had proven a major mistake, a blatant breaking of the first rule of the hunter: underestimate the quarry and you become the prey.

  Stricken eyes swept the room as panic swelled in the anxious heart. Time was running out. Day after tomorrow guests would start arriving, buffering April with the safety of their numbers. If she remembered—all would be lost. Only a fatal accident would insure permanent silence.

  April poured herself a cup of coffee and escaped to her father’s den. Relishing the quiet, she stared through the French doors at the overcast day. This morning her body felt as battered as the sea-ravaged rocks buttressing the cliff just beyond the bay.

  The coffee’s strong aroma beckoned from the steaming mug in her hands. She took a drink and heat flowed into her queasy stomach like a soothing salve. Taking another gulp, she willed the caffeine to kick in and lift the lethargy claiming her limbs, her mind.

  All night she’d tossed and turned, plagued with nightmares. In her sleep, she’d acted out one scene after another, all with similar themes inspired by the petrifying experience in the dark basement, and further fueled by the memory of Spencer’s betrayal twelve years ago.

  Could the horrid dreams have contained snatches of the truth? Had she killed Lily in a fit of jealousy? The thought made her skin crawl.