by Brenna Todd
"Well, seein' with my own eyes will have to be believin' for me. She's been kind to me, Edith. She paid me while I was out sick for two weeks even though I'd only been workin' here less than six months. Not many would do that. And it's not my place to pass judgment."
"You think she was down in them tunnels just to while away the time? When her party was blaring away upstairs? She was meeting a man. Dressed up in men's clothes so she could sneak down there without drawing attention is my guess."
"I'D grant you the clothes are odd. But maybe.. .maybe she was dressed for riding? She does love that horse of hers. Maybe these are some kind of riding shoe. Saints, I've never seen the likes, and I thought those pointy-toed boots all the cowmen wear were strange."
"Annie, you're worse than green, you're ignorant! She was with a man, which is what she loves more than horses, believe you me. Don't know where these shoes came from, never seen anything like 'em myself, either. But take a gander at this. Is that or is that not a man's name stitched on the side? Look here.... Mike."
Erin frowned. Mike? On her shoes?
There was a moment's silence, then she heard Annie's soft giggle. "Oh, it's ignorant I am, is it? Well, I'm not so ignorant I can't spell a good Irish name like Mike. That's an N, not an M. It says Nike, you see. Heaven knows what it means, but it's not a man's name."
Erin cracked a grin. Nikee, Annie. It's Nikee.
"Don't matter what it says on her shoes," Edith muttered defensively. "Matters what she was doing down in them tunnels. Might just get her sent away again."
"Sent away again? No...I shouldn't hear about—"
"That's right. Same behavior got her thrown out of the castle four years ago. Oh, they tried to keep it as hushed up as possible, gave out the story that she was visiting family back east, but I heard the fight they had the night before she left. I know the real reason she was sent away. It was because of one of her affairs. He didn't want the whole town knowin' about it, even if she didn't care."
Erin heard Annie sigh. "Oh, Edith, you were listenin' at a door!"
"Couldn't help but hear it, Miss Greenhorn. They wasn't exactly whispering that night." There was a pause, then Edith's voice dropped. "Sounded like he was going to beat her! He was hollering and slamming things down. And all she could do was cry and beg. Begged for him to let her stay in one breath, then wanted a divorce in the next!"
"Edith, I won't be listenin' to more of this."
"Don't you even want to know the reason he was sending her off? The reason she wanted the divorce? It's a doozy. Yes sirree. The woman who's been so kind to you has quite the shameful secret in her past. She—"
The bedroom door swung open, and Edith's revelation was cut off in midsentence.
"Mr. Munro, sir!" she exclaimed guiltily. "We was just...just settin' Miz Della's clothes to rights. But we're finished. Let's go, Annie."
More drawers were hurriedly slammed shut, and Erin heard the women scurry out the door.
She scooted back up under the covers, feigning sleep. This dream was turning into a nightmare!
How angry J.B. had been last night! And whether or not this was all some bizarre illusion, the pounding in her head was real. The last thing she needed right now was a fight.
The bed dipped when he sat on its edge. Erin felt his hand close over her shoulder, then shake her none too gently. "Wake up. Now, Della."
She kept her eyes shut, her features as still as possible. Come on, give it up. Just go away.
"I said now, Della." He shook her again. "You're awake and I know it."
Perceptive, Erin thought, but continued to breathe the rhythm of one folded deep in slumber. It was an effort not to move when she felt him come close, his face only inches from hers. That effort became gargantuan when his hand slid from her shoulder to her neck. Then his mouth was at her ear.
"Should I try waking you as a true husband might?" he whispered sarcastically. "One who actually shares his wife's bed?"
A fight wasn't the last thing she needed, she realized. Erin opened her eyes, glaring up at him.
He gave a bitter laugh. "Ah, I didn't think so," he said, then let go of her and stood.
He paced to the end of the bed and looked down at her. It startled her again, seeing the man's face. He was the man in the portrait she'd seen on the tour. But how? How could he be that same man? How could any of this be?
"What say we talk, wife." His tone was civil, and he wore a congenial grin, but his eyes were chips of stone. "About your hatred of me. About your quest to destroy my name in this town. Fascinating subject. Let's discuss it, shall we?"
Erin merely stared at him.
"No? Why, I was certain the subject would be of interest to you. Scandal and gossip being your forte, so to speak, I had supposed you'd be eager to talk about your latest efforts to disgrace me. Have you no comment at all on how you managed to fan the flames of rumor so vigorously just as they were dying down from four years ago? And at a party you so graciously offered to give in my honor! Surely you have something to say about that?"
Erin remained mute.
"Nothing? Wouldn't you like to gloat over how well your plan to humiliate me succeeded?" He dropped his facade of congeniality.
"You planned it so that several people saw you leave the great hall with that man, didn't you? And you're thrilled that everyone's talking about how you're at it again." His voice had risen in his anger, and Erin fought to prevent herself from wincing or covering her ears. "I ignored all the whispers and rumors these past months. More fool me for giving you and your compliant act the benefit of the doubt. You've been catting around again, just as everyone suspected. Everyone but me! And last night's scene was to show them, the people of my town, what a fool I've been, wasn't it?"
He ran a hand through his blond hair. His mouth was twisted in disgust and he jerked his gaze from her as though he couldn't stomach looking at her one moment longer. If this wasn't an illusion... if it turned out all this was real, Della, Erin thought, was some piece of work.
"Still nothing to say? Well, maybe this will stimulate some conversation," he said, his voice quiet again, but with menacing undertones. "You're obviously in need of some...rest, dear. A good deal of it. So I placed a call early this morning to a hospital in Missouri."
Rest? Hospital? "Wh-what do you mean?" She broke her silence warily. This was feeling more real by the moment. And more frightening.
"Ah, I thought that might make you speak up. What I mean is that though it usually takes a little while for the commitment papers to go through, I seem to have enough of a name left to... expedite matters. And your actions last night can only help."
Commitment! Erin sat up straight in the bed, her mind filling with images of—what had they called them in the 1920s?—asylums. Before reform had come about. Oh, no. No way. She might have suspected she'd lost her mind a time or two since last night, but she hadn't. Deep down she knew she was sane. It was her circumstances that were crazy. But that didn't mean she was going to let them get more crazy. She knew how to extract herself from the situation: the portrait; and the locket.
Time for the truth, she thought. Time to tell him she wasn't the woman he planned to put away. She wasn't his adulterous, scandal-mongering wife, Della. That woman was dead and hidden in some cave around here, and Erin was a paramedic who had treated him in the 1990s and—
Oh, God, that really did sound crazy. It was impossible. Unbelievable. And just what he needed for the commitment papers!
No, she couldn't tell him the truth—not without Della's body as proof. And finding Della could take...who knew how long? Weeks, maybe. She'd bet J.B.'s timetable wouldn't allow for weeks. Her best bet was to avoid the truth at all costs and get the locket back!
Erin swallowed, fighting panic. Think. Think. You only need to stall him, then you're out of here.
"Still nothing to say, Della?" He folded his arms across his chest, a cocky, satisfied grin on his face. "I'm so pleased to see you agree with my plans.
Though, whether you feel it's the rest you need or just that you're bored with the local crop of young men, I don't know. Nor do I care. In fact, it does my heart good to see you floundering for once."
Oooh, Erin thought, angry now. She was furious about the whole mess she found herself in—incensed about feeling even momentarily helpless, and particularly enraged by him. Della might have been the biggest slut in the history of the Sooner State, but her husband was no saint, either. This wasn't the frail old man she'd met as a paramedic. He wasn't weak or pitiable—he was dangerous!
She watched his eyes, bright and cold with a devious light, and knew that nothing short of feeding him a dose of his own medicine would get her out of this predicament. She cleared her throat and leaned her head back against Della's ornate headboard. Summoning up a bored expression, she said, "You underestimate me, you know. And that surprises me. You haven't risen to the place you are by underestimating people."
Not a flicker of emotion showed in his features, and Erin felt a prickle of nerves. Could she pull this off?
"You're right. I underestimate no one. I will admit to weakness in the past where you're concerned, but I've learned from my mistakes."
Erin smoothed the bedcovers with a hand she ordered not to shake. "I wouldn't be too quick to put my John Hancock on any dotted line if I were you. Not if you want the little 'episode' of four years ago to remain a deep, dark family secret. Wouldn't want the whole of Munro society to get wind of it, would you?"
He laughed then, shaking Erin's confidence. Hadn't Edith told Annie that J.B. had wanted whatever had happened hushed up? Erin had so hoped she'd found J.B.'s Achilles' heel.
"Blackmail? Aren't you forgetting that adultery is your forte?" His laughter died a quick death. "Mark my words. If you try anything with me, Della, I'll see to it that you're locked away in that hospital until everyone in this town forgets you ever existed."
He'd made his threat sound convincing, but Erin noticed something. J. B. Munro had a tic. A nervous tic beneath one eye. Not quite as unnerved as you'd like me to believe, are you? she thought.
"But what about the damage I'd do to the precious Munro name before the key's turned in the lock?"
"Munro happens to be your name, as well." The tic became more noticeable. He rubbed at it with his index finger, then caught her watching and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.
"One would think by my behavior that I don't particularly care about the Munro name," she said with a shrug. Inside, she cared. Oh, how she cared—but not for the Munro name. So much was riding on her ability to pull this off. What if threatening to tell family secrets wasn't enough? It might be pushing her little scheme too far, but Erin decided she had to take the bluff one step further.
"I don't underestimate people, either, J.B. I knew you'd threaten something like this after I slipped out last night. So I've made sure you'd pay for it if you did." She took a deep breath. "That man everyone saw me leave with? He knows all the details you tried to keep hushed up four years ago. He's known for quite a while, in fact. If it gets out that I've decided to 'visit family back east' or something like that, I've told him to make sure the details get out."
J.B.'s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Erin's pulse quickened. "He... has a relative who's a reporter," she added for good measure.
"A relative?"
"His cousin."
"Local paper?"
"National."
"I don't believe you."
"Your choice."
He balled his hands into fists. The tic worked furiously. "You're not stupid, Della. You know you're crossing the wrong man," he said with a growl.
"Am I?" she asked, lifting a brow. "Well, J.B., I see it differently. The way I see it is that you're crossing the wrong woman."
"That woman is my wife," he spat out, but he might just as well have used the word property.
"And this wife will not spend one day, one minute, in any hospital. Not if her husband cares about his precious name."
It became a glaring contest then. J.B. was a pro, she'd give him that. Arms folded across his middle, his neck and face a blotchy crimson color above the high, tight collar, he spewed contempt from his narrowed eyes.
As determined as J.B. was, however, he was the one to break eye contact first. He shook his head, and his hands went back into his pockets. For one brief moment Erin detected sadness in his eyes. But it was swiftly gone, probably only a figment of her imagination.
"You may feel you've won at the moment," he said quietly, his features suddenly carved with the determination she was sure had been the driving force behind all the millions he'd made. "But the victory might not be quite as sweet as it tastes now." He stalked toward the door, and Erin let out a silent breath of relief, glad for the wall that blocked the bed from his view. She listened intently to his fading footsteps, waited for the sound of the door opening.
"You are restricted to the mansion," he said from across the room. "You will not venture down into those tunnels, or do anything else to embarrass me in front of Harrison Wyndham while he's staying here. This town has too much invested in his cooperation, and I won't see you destroy what I'm trying to do. You want to stay here, you'll play the role of adoring wife if it kills you. And it just might."
The door closed and Erin fell forward on the bed, face first into the rose-and-ribbon-patterned bedspread, muffling her load groan.
The tension of moments ago might have lessened with J.B.'s departure, but the fear hadn't— fear that she might have pushed the powerful man too far. She was out of her league here; way, way out of it.
Which meant she had to get moving. Throwing back the bedclothes, she got to her feet and went to the dresser she had seen Edith and Annie standing beside. Her head still throbbed as she searched for and found her Levi's. She had them over her hips and buttoned when she chanced to look out the tall, leaded windows above the dresser.
Too much, she thought. Too much! The room overlooked the front of the mansion, offering a view of the circular drive before it disappeared under the portico. Lining the drive were maybe a dozen or more cars similar to the ones she'd seen the day of the tour. Yesterday, she thought. But in reality, seventy years from now. And those cars— she remembered model names like Lexington, Maxwell, Pierce-Arrow—were likely only a few years old, if that. Yesterday they had been antiques.
She saw people stream out the front doors and cluster around the cars. Munro's party guests had obviously stayed overnight. Erin pressed closer to the windows, her eyes widening as she took in their apparel. Had she not been seeing it all in vivid color, she would swear she was watching an old black-and-white movie. She could almost hear the scratchy old sound track as guests gathered out-
Women in cloche hats and coats with high fur collars were escorted out on the arms of men in stiff collars like J.B.'s, and wearing black bowler hats and overcoats. She caught sight of a younger man who didn't wear a hat, but certainly should have, in her opinion. His hair was as shiny as patent leather, slicked back and parted in the middle.
She glanced down at her jeans, knowing she would be sure to stand out—something she didn't want. Taking only a moment to mourn their loss, she went to Della's closet and flung the door open.
The tour guide hadn't exaggerated. Della Munro had been a slave to the fashions of the day. Erin clattered hanger after hanger of designer outfits across a metal bar, her amazement growing with each label she read. Worth, Chanel, Vionnet, Lanvin, Patou. Nothing like conspicuous consumption, she thought, brushing her fingertips over the satiny fabric of an Egyptian-looking silver evening gown. She might have been a piece of work, but Della Munro knew how to live large.
Erin chose the plainest of Della's daytime outfits, then moved back to the dresser to stow away the jeans. The change in her pocket jingled. Pulling out her money and license, she focused on the birth line of the small card: 1966.
She looked skyward, her stomach roiling with the impossibility of it all. "I'm not due here for a
nother forty years. You realized that, didn't you?"
CHAPTER FIVE
ERIN CAME TO A HALT on the landing. The foyer of Munro's magnificent home sprawled out below her, shafts of sunlight streaking through the fanlight above the giant wooden front doors. Alabaster sculptures on pedestals flanked the entranceway, and the spectacular Italian marble floor gleamed like a winter pond in moonlight.
She closed her eyes and moaned quietly, wishing she had paid more attention when she'd taken the tour. The great hall was at the back of the mansion on the first floor, that much she remembered. This, of course, was the front. She had just spent twenty minutes fighting her way through the labyrinth of the upper floors, taking turn after wrong turn into bedrooms, sitting rooms and parlors, even managing to stumble into J.B.'s office. He'd glared at her from behind his desk and she'd backed out of the room, whispering a huffy, "Excuse me," under her breath while making her escape.
Escape. That's where she'd prayed this staircase would lead. She had envisioned leaping off the last step into the great hall, then breaking Olympic records in her dash toward the fireplace and the door that would take her to her locket, then home to her father's bedside. Now she stood on the landing, eyeing an arched door that led to the dining room, the distinct aroma of breakfast wafting up the stairs to tempt her. Her stomach growled as if on cue.
"Tough," she told it, then proceeded down the stairs as quietly as she could in Della's uncomfortable high heels.
She slipped past the dining-room door, hoping no one had noticed her, then quickened her steps. If memory served, there were only a couple of football-stadium-size rooms between her and her goal.
She fairly flew through the first room, attracting no attention because, thank heavens, it was empty. But as she strode briskly through the next one, a maid looked up from an armoire she was dusting. The woman opened her mouth as though to speak, but Erin flashed her a "You don't want to mess with me right now" look. The maid promptly closed her mouth and averted her eyes, then continued with her dusting.