She went downstairs to the family room, hoping to find Brett there, but the room was empty except for the TV babbling to itself. Ardin clicked it off, then turned, startled to see Brett standing in doorway.
"I'll say good-night, as I have a ton of paperwork to wade through before I turn in. Contractors keep early hours."
Early was right. It wasn't even half-past eight. "Good night," she said, unable to hide her disappointment.
"If nothing on TV suits you, there's today's newspaper and a few paperbacks."
And he was gone. What did you expect? An invitation to his bed for a bout of passionate lovemaking? She felt a flame of desire in her loins, and yearned to feel him throbbing deep inside her.
That wasn't going to happen, she reminded herself. She gathered up several sections of the Sunday newspaper, selected a mystery paperback, and carried them up to her room.
* * * *
Brett was gone when Ardin awoke the following morning. She got Leonie ready for school, and waited outside with her until the school bus arrived. Back inside the large, silent house, she poured herself a second cup of coffee. For the rest of the day she was on her own.
She called the repair shop and was pleased to learn that her car was ready. "Could you have someone bring it to me?"
"Can do. Give me fifteen minutes."
Dr. Morissey called to say Julia was still in guarded condition. "She's sleeping now and under sedation. We want her to rest as much possible."
Ardin's breath caught in her throat. "Will she be all right?"
"We're doing everything we can to help her get through the next forty-eight hours."
"Thanks, Dr. Morissey." Ardin felt weighted down. Lethargic. She barely had the strength to put down the phone.
Her cell phone rang five minutes later. It was Detective Rabe.
"I want to give you the heads up that Marshall Crewe is out and about as of ten o'clock last night. He's highly agitated. Still insists he's innocent of all charges."
Ardin sighed. Worried as she was about Aunt Julia, she'd forgotten about Crewe. "Do you think he'll come after me?"
The detective clucked his tongue. "Couldn't say. My gut tells me he won't, but I'd feel a lot better if I could spare someone to look after you. Frankly, I'm glad Mr. Waterstone's playing watchdog, though he's probably at work now."
"I'm glad to hear you don't consider Brett a suspect." She wasn't able to keep sarcasm out of her tone.
"Come on, Ms. Wesley. Did I ever say I did? Do us both a favor and keep your wits about you. Stay home, or stick to public places for now. I don't want anything else to happen to you."
Amazing. Not one innuendo or hostile comment. It was almost as though Rabe had turned into a friend. Too bad he wasn't any further along with the murder investigation.
The garage mechanic arrived in Ardin's car. She drove him back to the repair shop, settled her bill, and continued on to Julia's house.
The house was a disaster. A blue tarp shielded the open roof from the elements. The brick facade was blackened. Boards covered broken windows.
Ardin walked around to the back of the house. It was in even worse condition, with furniture scattered about the lawn, the same lawn where, less than a year ago, Suziette and Brett's wedding had taken place.
Poor Aunt Julia. Ardin hoped the sight of her home's destruction wasn't going to bring on another heart attack.
She unlocked the front door and held her nose against the acrid smell of smoke, still sharp enough to draw tears. She went into the kitchen, which hadn't been damaged, and removed her aunt's address book from the desk drawer. A few business cards were stapled to the first page. She was glad to see one was from the insurance company. She'd call them when she returned to Brett's house. The sooner they sent someone out to look at the house, the sooner it would be repaired.
Ardin opened the garage and carried the carton of Suziette's belongings out to her car. She looked around, wondering what else needed her attention, when a white mail car stopped in front of the house. Ardin went to meet the mailman who handed her a bundle of mail.
"Sorry to hear about your troubles. How's Mrs. Darling doing?"
"Not very well."
The mailman shook his head. "Tell her Jerry sends his best."
"I will, thanks."
Ardin climbed into her car and leafed through the stack of mail. There were two bills, a ladies' magazine, and an important-looking letter addressed to her. Her heart thudded as she ripped open the envelope from the judge presiding over Leonie's adoption.
Ardin skimmed it, and then read it again, slowly. Because of the tragic circumstances of the mother's death and the fact that two adults were now seeking custody of the child, the judge was calling for a meeting of the two concerned parties on Friday, at nine o'clock. Any information she might have regarding the identity of the biological father would be useful and would help expedite this matter.
A wave of nervous anticipation rippled through her body. It was finally happening. No doubt a similar letter was waiting for Brett at home. His home, she quickly amended.
As she drove to the mall, she considered the various points she'd make to convince the judge to decide in her favor. She was a blood relative. Suziette had named her Leonie's consecutive guardian. Leonie was fond of her. She would provide a loving, stimulating home for Leonie. In Manhattan.
Ardin bit her lip. No matter how much she talked up the cultural benefits that Manhattan offered an intelligent, precocious child, it didn't stack up against Brett's intention to raise Leonie in Thornedale. Unless she agreed to settle in Thornedale.
No, no, no! The idea was out of the question.
So was telling the judge they thought Corey MacAllister was Leonie's biological father. Hah! She could visualize the judge chuckling in his robes at that suggestion, coming from Corey's ex-wife and Suziette's cuckolded husband.
* * * *
Lunching at the food court hours later, Ardin mused about the curative powers of shopping. She bit into her corned beef sandwich--worthy of a top New York deli--and reviewed her purchases in her mind. She'd worked her way through two department stores and three boutiques, buying up a storm. Now she had enough pants and tops, skirts and blouses, shoes, bras, and underwear to wear for the next two months. She'd also bought Leonie several items of clothing, including a ridiculously expensive blue and white cardigan she couldn't resist.
She'd never spent that much on clothing before, but decided it had been worth every penny because it had given her a respite from thinking about Suziette's murder and the complications in her life. Besides, there was something about new clothes that gave one a sense of anticipation--the possibility of new beginnings and positive outcomes regarding the future. Maybe things would turn out right. Rabe would find her cousin's killer, and Brett would come around to accepting her as Leonie's guardian.
Ardin hummed as she drove to Brett's house. She had so many shopping bags, she decided to take up his offer and parked in the garage. Up in her room, she examined each article of clothing before putting it away. Her favorite was a long, slinky black dress with a halter-top. Though she had no occasion to wear it, the dress showed off her curves in such a flattering manner, it had been impossible to resist. There was bound to be a New York or Hamptons party this summer, and she'd put it to good use.
Ardin stripped down to her panties and slipped the dress over her head. She twisted up her long hair in a clamp, and then dashed into the large well-mirrored bathroom to check out the results.
She closed the door, twirling this way and that, to observe herself from every angle. The dress was spectacular. With a spiky pair of black sandals, she'd be the cat's meow. Now where in Thornedale could she find that pair of sandals? Absent-mindedly, she stepped out of her new dress as she pondered the question. She tossed the dress over her arm and opened the door.
"Oh!" she gasped, clutching the dress to her body. "I didn't hear you come in."
Brett stared up at her from the downstairs hall
, a broad grin on his face. "Now that's a welcoming sight, so I can't say I'm sorry. Are you going somewhere?"
Blushing furiously, she ran into her room and slammed the door shut. I never thought--I never meant--What if he thinks-- What will he think?
She breathed deeply and willed herself to calm down. Brett knew he'd surprised her, so there was no question of intent on her part. As for modesty--Ardin groaned. There wasn't an inch of her body he hadn't already seen.
Minutes later, dressed again in jeans and a polo shirt, she started down the stairs. Brett, poised halfway out the front door with whatever papers he'd come for tucked under his arm, watched her. His expression was solemn. Or was it grim? In the distance, she couldn't be sure.
"I'd like us to sit down after dinner, Ardin. We've a few things to discuss."
She nodded, too flustered to speak. Whatever Brett had to tell her wasn't anything she wanted to hear.
"Sure," she finally got out, but by then the door was closed and she was alone in the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ardin sank into a kitchen chair and dialed her aunt's insurance company. After working her way through five menu choices, she finally reached a live representative and started telling the young man on the other end about the fire. He stopped her in mid-sentence, demanding Aunt Julia's policy number and social security number. When Ardin explained that her aunt was in the hospital and the papers had probably been burned, the man said a manager would call her within forty-eight hours.
She slammed down the phone and redialed the number. This time she insisted on speaking to a supervisor. After an eight-minute wait, one came on the line. Ardin repeated her story and, after answering several questions, was told an inspector would come out to see the house two weeks from today.
"Two weeks!" she echoed. "But the house requires considerable reconstruction. It could take months."
"Most likely a year," the woman said. "I'm sorry, dear, but these things take time."
And where was Aunt Julia supposed to live in the meantime? Ardin shook her head in frustration. She called the hospital, and was told Mrs. Darling's condition was unchanged from this morning. She was sleeping comfortably.
A chill ran down Ardin's spine. "Will she be all right?"
"We certainly hope so, dear. The staff is doing everything to help her recover."
Ardin made a face. If one more person called her "dear," she wouldn't be responsible for anything she said.
She peered into the refrigerator and saw there were enough leftovers of last night's meatballs and pasta for dinner. An acorn squash was in the bin and she decided to bake it, too.
A quick inventory of their food supplies showed they were running low on fruits, vegetables, and milk. She'd go food shopping tomorrow. As long as she was living here, she'd pull her fair share. Then she remembered Brett's words as he'd left the house and shivered. Was he going to ask her to leave?
Suddenly leaving was the last thing Ardin wanted to do. She liked living here, knowing Leonie would come home at four-thirty, and shortly after that Brett would walk through the door. Then the three of them would have dinner and talk and...
Oh, no, you don't! Don't you dare spin romantic daydreams that can't come true. Be real. Think what is. Be constructive.
This would be a good time to go through Suziette's belongings from the office. Once she'd fetched the carton from her car and plunked it down in the middle of the living room, she sat cross-legged on the Turkish rug and unfolded the four flaps.
Inside she found a neatly folded trench coat, a black cardigan and a white one, a pair of sneakers, a pair of high heels, and a cosmetic bag loaded with makeup.
Farther down were a large coffee mug, little statuettes with cutesy sayings, a mirror with an elaborate silver handle, some fashion magazines, two dog-eared paperbacks, and several photographs: of Suziette, of Leonie and Suziette, and an eight-by-ten of Suziette, Leonie, and Brett taken at the wedding. Their smiling faces made her want to cry.
She sifted carefully among the many items, on the lookout for the black date book, but it wasn't there. The police hadn't found it when they searched the house and Suziette's car. Of course the murderer might have found it when he ransacked both houses.
Then why was he after her? Vigorously, Ardin shook her head to chase the insidious thought away. No one was after her. Nothing bad had happened to her since the night of the fire. And, despite his denials, Marshall Crewe had to be the arsonist. His presence at the scene was proof of that.
Not proof but circumstantial evidence, counselor, the voice of her conscience pointed out, but Ardin brushed it aside. This was real life, not a court of law. Everyone knew how facts could be twisted around.
The doorbell rang, startling her. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find Frank standing there. He was panting. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow, marring his dapper appearance.
"Get Brett. I have to speak to him."
She gaped. "Brett's not here. He's at the strip mall."
He pushed past her, giving off a rank whiff of body odor. "I know he's here. His workmen said he had to pick up some papers."
Frank's hyper, jerky movements made her uneasy. "He came home but he left again. I'll tell him you came looking for him."
He peered into the kitchen, the empty dining room, and then came back to face her. "The fool's making a huge mistake. This condo deal's the chance of a lifetime. It will set him and Rob up with enough jobs for the rest of their lives."
So that was it. Brett had pulled out, sending Frank into a panic.
She squirmed as his eyes narrowed, his lips turned up in a grimace of a smile. "I bet it's your doing. You told Brett all sorts of lies to change his mind."
"I most certainly did not."
He stepped closer. "I don't believe you."
She backed up, but quickly regretted her move. One more step back and she'd be smack against the staircase.
"How dare you come back here and meddle in my business? Destroy plans I've spent years in the making? No one crosses Frank MacAllister. No one!"
She flinched as his spittle hit her cheek. Her one hope was to take the offensive. "I'd like you to leave now."
"Oh, you would, would you?" He parked his hands on his hips, looking frighteningly like Corey. Would he strike her? "Brett has the chance to make good money, for us all to make money, but you had to contaminate it with biased tales of your father."
"I never told Brett..." she began, and then realized she had.
"Don't tell me you don't lie and scheme." His sneer came menacingly closer. "You're no better than your whore of a cousin."
Frantically, Ardin looked around. "Get out, Frank, before I call the police."
She had no idea what he intended to do next, when a car horn honked, startling them both.
Frank drew back. "If you know what's good for you, you'll sweet-talk Brett into staying in the deal."
The horn honked more insistently now. "It's Leonie," she said, moving past him to the door.
She gulped in sweet, spring air as she ran toward the school bus, which had pulled into the driveway behind Frank's Jaguar. Leonie came toward her holding Mr. Bonkers in one hand, a drawing in another.
"Look, Cousin Ardin. I made a picture of all the animals in the zoo."
Ardin waved to the bus driver and stopped to study the drawing.
"See, there's a tiger, and there's a seal splashing around in her pool. Miss Anne read us a zoo story today."
"And there's a lion." Ardin hoped Frank would calm down and leave. Surely, he wouldn't carry on and upset Leonie.
Leonie tugged at her hand. "Let's go inside. I'm hungry."
Reluctantly Ardin followed her up the steps. She sighed with relief when Frank stepped outside.
Leonie ran to give him a hug. "Uncle Frank! I didn't know you were here."
"I'm just leaving." He gave her a perfunctory pat on the head.
Leonie said to Ardin. "Me and Michelle saw Uncle Frank i
n the mall on Saturday. He was shopping, just like us."
Frank climbed into his car without another word.
Ardin held her breath as he backed the Jaguar out of the driveway and roared down the street.
* * * *
Brett drove home slowly, practicing out loud what he'd say to Ardin. Finding the kindest way to ask her to move out was damned difficult. Especially when she was virtually homeless, and he'd invited her to be his houseguest.
"I think it's best we live apart, given the circumstances."
He shook his head. That sounded so phony. Besides, "live apart" gave off all kinds of shock waves. It was too intimate, too strong. Too much like a marital separation. He punched the steering wheel. What were the right words? He turned his attention back to the road in time to honk at an SUV barreling towards him, smack in the middle of the street.
There were no right words to tell Ardin she'd better leave or she'd find herself charging him with indecent advances or sexual harassment, or whatever the legal term was for making a pass at someone in your own home.
He'd almost lost it when she came out of the bathroom half-naked. It took all his willpower to resist putting his arms around her and pressing her close. He longed to stroke her breasts and waist and hips. Hell, all of him yearned to make love to her till the sun came up in the morning.
Not that she cared a fig about him. She'd proved that by scheming to take Leonie, the only other person he cared about. He glanced up at the court's letter jammed against the visor.
"We're adversaries in a court case," he said, "and we ought to keep our distance."
The problems were coming fast and furious, he thought, as he turned down his street. Bill Presley had called to say Frank had no legal authority to the land where he was planning to build those condos. Brett called Frank immediately, claiming he couldn't put down any money without seeing the deed to the property. Frank hemmed and hawed, and then, when he saw Brett wasn't going along with the deal, turned downright ugly and demanded to know who had turned Brett against him.
Brett didn't want Frank MacAllister for an enemy, but he wasn't about to make any more stupid mistakes, either.
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