Share No Secrets

by Carlene Thompson

  Skye came out of the laundry room, closing the door behind her and looking tragic. “Honey, a night in there won’t kill Brandon,” Adrienne said. “It’s not like he’s been cast out into an ice storm.”

  “But he’s used to being with me. He doesn’t understand.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Margaret’s voice held a trace of kindness. She was trying. “I’ll go upstairs and help you get settled into the guest rooms. Which ones would you like?”

  “I want to stay with Mom, not in a separate room,” Skye said promptly. “We want the room next to Rachel’s. It has the biggest TV.”

  Margaret looked doubtful. “I don’t think your mother is up for television …”

  “I’m always up for TV,” Adrienne lied, seeing Sky’s incipient glower. The girl had already been pushed far enough today with the murder, the attack on her mother, and finally Brandon’s incarceration in the wretched laundry room without his cushion or his toys or even his rawhide chewbone. “Really, Margaret, I can’t sleep unless I watch some television first. And there’s no sense in messing up two rooms.”

  Twenty minutes later Skye lay across the king-sized bed watching a police show as Adrienne walked back into the room wrapped in one of Vicky’s terry-cloth robes. Her bath had felt wonderful, the hot water easing some of the tension from her neck and shoulders. She’d used lots of bath oil and placed several vanilla candles around the tub. Candles made by Lottie Brent. “Your sister is my mother’s biggest customer,” Julianna had told Adrienne a couple of years ago. “And she’s gotten a lot of her friends to buy them by the dozen. I’m so grateful to Vicky. It’s important to Mama to feel like she can earn her own living, with as little help from Gail and me as possible.”

  A wave of sadness hit Adrienne so hard she felt almost dizzy. She would never again see Julianna’s beautiful face alight with joy or hear her girlish laughter. She was gone. All that remained of Julianna Brent in this world was a cold, pale corpse lying in a morgue. It seemed impossible. And awful.

  “Mom, are you all right?” Skye had glanced away from the television and was looking at her in alarm. “Are you sick?”

  Yes, I’m sick at the thought of my friend being dead, Adrienne thought. My friend being murdered. “I’m fine, honey. I feel much better after my bath.”

  “You smell good—like vanilla—but you’re awful pale.

  “I was generous with Vicky’s vanilla bath oil. And I’ll have my normal color back by morning.”

  “I hope so.” Skye sighed. “Mom, except for when Daddy got killed, this has been the worst day of my life.”

  Adrienne went to the bed, sat down, and put her arm around her daughter. “I know, baby. It has for me, too. But it’s over now. The whole awful nightmare is over.”

  Adrienne spoke with conviction, but she was lying. She had an inexplicable but certain feeling that the nightmare was just beginning.

  3

  “For God’s sake, Adrienne, you look like someone beat you up!”

  Philip Hamilton—tall and striking in a tuxedo, every light brown hair in place, each little wrinkle flatteringly placed on his patrician face to give him a look of youthful experience and wisdom—grimaced ferociously down at her as she leaned against pillows propped against the headboard. “What’s wrong with you?” he continued angrily. “Why were you out prowling the streets alone at night?”

  “Philip, I must finally admit to you that I’ve become a hooker.” Adrienne couldn’t help herself. She was enraged that he was clearly more offended by the “undignified” attack on her than concerned about her welfare. “In my new line of work the hours are bad, but the boost in income has been a godsend. Getting beaten up now and then is just a normal hazard of business.”

  Philip glared and Vicky stepped forward. “Oh, please don’t tease him, Adrienne. He hates that.” Vicky’s forehead was creased, her cheeks flushed, and her blue eyes dark with worry. “Margaret gave us the gist of what happened. She said you’re not badly hurt, but you don’t look all right to me.”

  “I’m going to be fine. I just have some bruises and a cut on the forehead.”

  “Who did this to you and why?” Philip demanded.

  “I didn’t see who did it. I was attacked from behind. As to why, I suppose someone wanted the huge sum of cash I always carry in my purse.”

  She’d be damned if she’d mention her belief that someone had really been after her camera and give Philip another reason to blast her for playing amateur detective. Thank goodness Skye was with Rachel, who had returned from her date with Bruce about half an hour ago.

  “Margaret says Drew Delaney was hanging around you at the hospital,” Philip snapped.

  “Drew Delaney saved me,” she returned indignantly. “He scared off the mugger, then called for an ambulance, made arrangements for Skye to be taken care of, and stayed with me at the hospital until Margaret came for me.”

  “Delaney only stayed with you to get information,” Philip stated emphatically. “I hope you didn’t babble all about me.”

  “Actually, you’re all I ever talk about, Philip. You. Night and day. You’re in my every thought—”

  “Please!” Vicky said shrilly, running a hand through her short ash-blond hair, exactly the color of Rachel’s. “You two are like bickering six-year-olds. Philip, you’re being completely insensitive. And Adrienne, you’re being ridiculously defensive.”

  Adrienne couldn’t believe she heard herself saying petulantly, “Well, he started it!” Philip looked like he was going to fire back, “Did not!” But their gazes met and a slow, unwilling grin appeared on Philip’s handsome face before Adrienne burst into reluctant giggles. “She’s right, Philip. We sound absurd. I’m embarrassed for both of us.”

  “I’m embarrassed for us, too,” Philip said to her surprise. “But I’m the one who owes an apology. I’m sorry. It’s been a very long day and I’m really on edge. I took out my bad mood on you.” He sighed. “God, I need a drink.”

  “So do I,” Vicky said.

  “You’ve had enough.” He sounded as if he were speaking to a child and Vicky’s cheeks flamed. Philip gave Adrienne a tight smile. “I’ll leave you to talk to your sister. And I’m truly sorry for what happened to you. I’m glad you weren’t hurt more seriously.”

  After he left, Vicky sat down on the bed and took Adrienne’s hand. Her own was damp and not too steady. “You really are all right, aren’t you? You’re not just covering up?”

  “They wouldn’t have let me leave the hospital if I weren’t fine,” Adrienne said, omitting that she’d left against medical advice. “But you look drained, Vicky. I’m sorry I caused a scene with Philip.”

  “You didn’t cause it—he did. He’s been in a foul mood most of the day, and the party tonight was just grueling. Dull host and hostess, even duller guests, and far too many crammed into the party room at the club, not to mention faulty air-conditioning. I’ve perspired all over this silk dress. My makeup is streaked and my hair’s gone flat in spite of all the mousse I used. I’m a mess.”

  She sounded completely defeated and looked as though she might burst into tears. Adrienne remembered when Vicky had enjoyed all the social life that went with being the wife of Philip Hamilton. But she hadn’t seemed to enjoy it for the last couple of years. She looked perpetually harassed and tired.

  “We both had awful evenings. I think all of us, including Philip, needs some sleep.” Adrienne smiled at her sister. “Everything will be better in the morning.”

  “It has to be,” Vicky said dully, her usually pretty eyes bloodshot. “It just has to be.”

  4

  Adrienne wasn’t sure what woke her up. She’d been having a wonderful dream of swimming in the huge pool at la Belle with Julianna and Kit. Then something jerked her from sleep and she was instantly alert and on guard, like an animal sensing danger. She sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest as if it could protect her. But protect her from what?

  Music.

  She heard fa
miliar music. Loud. Pulsating. Annie Lennox’s hauntingly zombielike voice singing “Sweet Dreams.”

  “Skye?” Adrienne whispered in spite of the music. Then louder, “Skye?”

  She reached over but the other side of the bed was empty. Although she knew Skye wasn’t there, she flipped on the bedside light and looked again. The sheets were barely rumpled, the fluffy pillow cool.

  “Skye!” Adrienne leaped from the bed, tripping on the hem of her taller sister’s satin pajamas. Music blared on. A song she’d once loved now only reminded her of a brutally murdered friend. “Skye, where are you?”

  Her daughter certainly wasn’t blasting a song from the nineteen-eighties in her aunt’s house during the middle of the night. But who was? And where was Skye?

  Adrienne didn’t bother looking for the robe she’d worn earlier. She dashed into the hall and nearly collided with a startled-looking Rachel emerging from her room. “What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

  “Is Skye in your room?”

  “No. I thought she was sleeping with you.”

  The door at the end of the hall flew open and Vicky dashed out, clumsily tying the belt of her robe. “Rachel, you’re waking the whole household with that music!”

  “I’m not playing music,” Rachel flared back indignantly. “It’s two in the morning.”

  Philip stomped into the hall, his hair on end, his pajamas rumpled. “What in God’s name are you girls doing at this hour?” he thundered at Rachel. “I have to be at that damned Woman’s Club luncheon tomorrow. I need my sleep!”

  Rachel’s face turned pink with rage. “Why are you blaming me? I’m not playing music. It’s coming from downstairs. Maybe Skye’s playing it.” Her gaze narrowed. “Or maybe it’s Margaret.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Philip said scathingly. Rachel flushed an even deeper red and lowered her head. “Margaret went home hours ago and she would never do such a stupid thing!”

  Rachel looked up. “But I would?”

  Adrienne headed for the stairs. “You three stand there and argue,” she flung over her shoulder. “I’m going to find out what’s going on. Skye is not playing that music but someone is. She could be in trouble, if anyone besides me cares.”

  She hiked up the long pajama bottoms and ran as fast as she could down the curving staircase. At least Brandon wasn’t barking, she thought. Maybe that meant the house hadn’t been broken into. Brandon would bark at an intruder.

  Except the big dog was shut in a laundry room, unable to alert them to danger. Damn Philip and his rigid household rules, Adrienne fumed.

  A delicate lamp with a crystal base burned in the living room and an overhead light shone in the service hallway running between the kitchen and the dining room. Adrienne dashed into the dining room and ran through it to a small room fitted with an impossibly ornate desk, two tiny, brocade-covered chairs of the Louis XV period, and three walls of huge tapestries that overpowered the small room. Vicky had told her that Great-aunt Octavia called this her “morning room” where she went over household accounts, wrote thank-you notes, and sent out invitations. Vicky hated the room, particularly the supposedly priceless but ugly gray and beige rug where a CD player had been placed, blasting out the last notes of “Sweet Dreams.” Beside the player sat two lighted, jasmine-scented candles just like the ones that had surrounded the bed at la Belle where Julianna’s body had rested. In front of the candles lay pieces of shattered glass as red as blood.

  SIX

  1

  A moment of silence spun out after “Sweet Dreams” finished before the next song began. Adrienne yelled “Skye? Where are you?”

  She heard a dull thud above the sound of the music. Then another. They came from across the hall, in the kitchen. Vicky and Philip now stood motionless in the doorway of the morning room gaping at the CD player as if it were a poisonous snake. Adrienne pushed between them and ran into the kitchen, ignoring the chill of slick white vinyl beneath her bare feet. “Skye?”

  “In here!” Two more thuds came from the laundry room at the far end of the kitchen. A metal-framed kitchen chair had been wedged beneath the doorknob, jamming it. Adrienne slid out the chair and threw open the door. Skye came toward her but Brandon made it first, flinging himself at Adrienne, jumping up and placing his big paws on her shoulders while licking her face amid a flurry of ecstatic whines.

  “Mom, we were so scared!” Skye cried, moving closer to her mother. Brandon wouldn’t budge, making little talky noises as if verifying the horror of their predicament. Adrienne gave him a hug, and took his paws, gently lowering him to the floor while uttering comforting sounds. When he was somewhat calmed, he moved so she could tend to her daughter, who hugged her with equal passion.

  “I couldn’t sleep knowing Brandon was down here all by himself, scared and lonely,” Skye explained. “So I came down. We cuddled up and fell asleep. All of a sudden, Brandon barked a couple of times, jumped up and headed for the door. I knew by the way he was acting that something was wrong. I yelled ‘Who is it?’ but no one answered. I got really scared and then I heard a noise at the door. I guess that was someone putting the chair under the knob so we couldn’t get out I still grabbed Brandon and held his mouth shut, though, because I was afraid the person out there was the man who’d killed Julianna. I thought if Brandon stayed quiet and didn’t make a big fuss, the man might not change his mind and come in and murder us, too. Then there was all that music! We didn’t even try to get out until we heard you yelling.”

  “You did exactly the right thing,” Adrienne said.

  Skye managed a shaky smile. “So what happened. A robbery?”

  “I don’t know yet Let’s go to the others. They’re in the morning room.”

  Adrienne made no attempt to shut Brandon up in the laundry room again. He was frightened and needed to be with Skye. To hell with Philip.

  The elder Hamiltons had stepped into the room, but it was Rachel who stood by the CD player. She leaned down, punched the off button, then sank to her knees and blew out the candles. “I hate the scent of jasmine. Mom, did you buy these from Lottie Brent?”

  “No,” Vicky said faintly. “I only buy vanilla scent.”

  Rachel picked up a piece of red glass. “My wind chimes!” she cried. “I brought them in from the porch before I went out with Bruce because the wind was so strong.”

  The beautiful, hand-painted Venetian glass chimes, Adrienne thought Philip had bought them for Rachel on a European trip when she was fifteen and she’d loved them dearly. Sometimes Adrienne saw her simply staring up at them, her face bathed in light shining through the ruby glass.

  Rachel began gathering the pieces of glass and asked in a trembling voice, “Why would someone do this?”

  “Finding out how someone got in this house would be a better question,” Philip said. He turned to Vicky. “Did you turn on the security system?”

  “Yes, of course.” Vicky hesitated. “At least, I think I did.”

  “You think you did?” Philip’s face stiffened. “Don’t you remember doing something that important?”

  “I was so tired and Margaret was telling us about Adrienne. I rushed upstairs to see her. I was upset and I just don’t remember!”

  “All it takes is punching a few buttons to keep us safe at night and you don’t remember.” Philip looked at his wife as if she were an idiot. “Honestly, Vicky, where is your mind lately?”

  Vicky seemed to shrink inside her lovely kimono robe and Adrienne felt a surge of anger. “Vicky is not the only person in this house,” she snapped at Philip. “Why couldn’t you turn on the security system?”

  Philip shot her a steely look. “It’s Vicky’s job. I assumed she’d done it.”

  “Oh, stop it!” Rachel shouted, tears running down her cheeks. “All you two do is argue. I’m sick of hearing it. And shouldn’t we be checking the house to see if anything is missing? Or if anyone is still here?”

  “We should call Sheriff Flynn,” Skye said.

&nb
sp; “He’s the county sheriff and we’re in the city limits,” Adrienne said. “This is a matter for the city police.”

  “Still, Lucas would come if you asked, Mom,” Skye argued.

  Philip turned to glare at the girl and caught sight of Brandon. “Put that dog outside or back in the laundry room.”

  “No.” Skye steadily met Philip’s stare. “If somebody’s still in the house, Brandon could be protection.”

  Adrienne knew very well Brandon’s forte wasn’t protection, but she was so proud of Skye for standing up to the formidable Philip, she didn’t add a word.

  Philip continued to look at the girl for a moment, clearly surprised and perhaps a bit daunted, then announced in an overloud voice, “I’m going to search the house.”

  Vicky clutched his arm. “No. If someone is still here, he could hurt you. We’ll wait for the police. Where are they, anyway? Aren’t they supposed to come when the security alarm goes off?”

  “The alarm has to be turned on before it can go off.” Philip was so angry he talked through clenched teeth. “I’ll only look around a little. Vicky, you call the police. Skye, put the dog back—” He wavered. “Keep the dog out of my way. Rachel, go upstairs if you can’t stop whining over your wind chimes.”

  “Do you have any orders for me, sir?” Adrienne asked tartly.

  Philip threw her a narrow-eyed look. “I think you’ve caused quite enough trouble for one night. Go back to bed.”

  “Not with the police coming. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  “Fine. Bake some cookies, too. We’ll make a party out of this whole damned mess.”

  Adrienne started to fire back a scathing reply when she suddenly realized how awful Philip looked—gray, drawn, ten years older than he had last week when she’d seen him. He was unnerved by the situation—maybe even frightened—but there was something else wrong, too. She could see a vein throbbing in his temple. Was he on the verge of a stroke? Did healthy men in their mid-forties have strokes? She felt an unaccustomed twinge of concern for him.