“Do you really think Priscilla Courtland will be able to tell you anything the newspaper accounts didn’t?” Echo asked when they arrived at his car. “Especially after thirty years. She’s not a young woman, and who knows what her memory is like.”
“True.” Her mind could be Swiss cheese like Aunt Addy’s. “I’d say it’s worth a shot.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and Bram had the distinct feeling they weren’t alone, a different sensation, however, than the one he felt in the library. Opening the passenger door and holding it as Echo slipped into her seat, he casually glanced around. His penetrating gaze ferreted out no sign of life nearby. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling as he got himself inside and the engine started. He inched away from the coach house, using his rear and side view mirrors for as long as he could see. No movement. No doubt Echo had stirred his subconscious and now he was imagining things.
The drive to the Courtland beach house took less than five minutes. The side entrance to the mansion glowed pink in the dark. The Floridian-style building was distinctly out of place on the shores of a Midwestern lake. Adding this to her wearing showy jewels worth a fortune to a large party, Bram quickly concluded Priscilla Courtland was one of those people who enjoyed being noticed and talked about.
Leaving the car in the drive, they approached the house together. Bram rang the bell.
“This place is looking a little run down, too,” Echo said in a hushed voice.
He had noticed a bit of peeling paint and some cracked flagstones along the garden path. “I’d say it’s in prime condition compared to Dunescape, though. Takes a lot of money to keep up a place this size, especially one so overly-exposed to the elements.”
His head was still reeling with the number of things that had to be taken care of to get Aunt Addy’s place back in good enough shape to find a buyer, if that’s what he chose to do. Staying and making a new start in a town that he’d avoided for thirty years held an appeal that surprised him.
A moment later, a young woman answered and led them into the dated if painfully pristine living room, mostly eggshell white but for touches of pale pink and mauve and rose. Priscilla Courtland sat before the fire working with a skein of yarn and crochet hook, what looked to be the start of an afghan in her lap. Her rose and cream dress was designer, but also dated, and her silver hair was swept away from her finely-boned face. With skin nearly as smooth as a young girl’s, she hardly looked her age which had to be about sixty.
Eyes wide on Bram, she indicated a sofa opposite. “Please sit. Excuse me for staring,” she said in a cultured, well-modulated voice, “but the resemblance to your father is remarkable.”
Bram placed a hand at Echo’s back and guided her to the sofa. “So I’ve been told. This is Echo St. Clair. She owns Echoes in Water’s Edge. And she’s helping to turn Dunescape Cottage into the Halloween Haunted Mansion.”
Bright blue eyes taking stock of Echo now, Priscilla regally inclined her head. “I’ve heard of your shop. And of your worthy project for the young people. Very admirable, since you are not a parent yourself.”
“Close enough,” Echo said as they sat. “I’m an aunt.”
She checked to see if either wanted tea, then waved the young girl off. “So what can I do for you?”
Bram said, “Share some memories, if you would.”
“Of your father?”
He nodded. “More to the point, of the night your jewels were stolen.”
“Ah, the jewels.” Her head shook, the action sad. “The start of all our bad luck.”
“There were other thefts?” Echo asked.
“More like business failures. Within months of the theft, poor Grover lost the company his father had started. Then we had to sell our Palm Beach estate and New York City apartment and move into this house full time within two years.” She clucked and shook her head harder. “Forgive me. I am rambling on about myself. You wanted to know about the jewel theft. May I ask why?”
Bram hadn’t been prepared to face that particular question. He didn’t want to suggest that he thought the theft and his father’s death might be connected.
As if sensing his hesitancy, Echo piped in, “While we were cleaning up yesterday, I found a gold, gem-studded fancy-dress button that reminded Bram of the last ball and your loss.”
“My costume didn’t have buttons of any worth.”
“So we’ve been told.”
Priscilla sighed. “Thirty years is a long time. If only you could recover the jewels... The economy has been terrible for everyone, hasn’t it? And without Grover, I’m lucky that I haven’t been forced to sell this house and move into something even more modest. As it is, I live on the first floor and leave the second closed so I don’t have to heat and light it.” Her laugh was troubled. “It’s almost as if someone put a curse on us.”
Not that Bram believed in such nonsense, he nodded sympathetically and pointed the conversation back to the theft. “The jewels never surfaced. Could someone have stolen them out of spite? An enemy of yours or of your husband, perhaps?”
“Enemy? Oh, dear, how dramatic. Then the theft was quite a drama-filled episode, I suppose. Anyone with wealth has those who are envious of their good fortune. But Grover was a dear man, amiable and generous to a fault. He never made an enemy in his life. If the fault lies anywhere, then it must be with me.”
Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she gazed at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. The middle-aged man was classically handsome with a full mouth, a tiny mole at the corner, a straight nose and broad forehead. His light brown eyes held a sly expression as if he were laughing at a private joke.
“So you had no indication that anything was wrong that day before coming to the party,” Bram went on.
She frowned as if remembering something, but said, “Not really.”
Perhaps she’d had a disagreement with her husband. Bram didn’t want to pry.
“So what exactly did happen at the ball?” Echo asked.
“We alternated dancing and speaking to friends. Those we could recognize in their costumes. Then just before midnight, the buffet was put out. Grover was hungry, of course. He was a man with very healthy appetites of all sorts.” She grew silent for a moment, her face softening as if she were recounting pleasurable memories. “We were about to get in line when he was called away to the telephone.”
“Who would try to contact your husband at a social event?” Bram asked.
“We never found out. By the time he got to the phone, the caller had hung up.”
If there had been anyone on the other end in the first place. “Who notified him of the call?”
Priscilla’s forehead puckered. “What is her name. Age you know.” She waved her smooth hand around her head. “Tends to scramble the brain a bit. She worked for your family. A severe looking young woman. I believe she may still be in Adrienne’s employ.”
“Lena?”
“I believe so.”
Bram chewed on that one for a minute. The newspaper accounts hadn’t mentioned Lena. He would have remembered. Nor a mysterious telephone call, for that matter. All that the stories had revealed was that Grover Courtland had been out of his wife’s company when the robbery took place...
...when he’d actually been out of the ballroom.
If only his mother would be more forthcoming. He’d asked her about that night more than once, but she always avoided the topic with a vehemence he hadn’t understood.
“Go on,” Echo urged.
“Well, I was alone, staring out the terrace windows toward the lake when the lights went out. People were frightened. I remember hearing a scream.” Her fingers fiddled with the crochet hook in her lap. “And then...nothing. Next thing I knew, I woke up in my dear Grover’s arms and was told I had been robbed. What a tragedy, considering he’d only bought the collection for me a few weeks before.”
“Not enough time to have paste duplicates made,” Bram commented.
Priscilla shrugged. “Fate was not kind. Who would have thought thieves of any sophistication would be afoot in a backwater Michigan town?”
Bram wondered if that had been Grover’s reasoning or hers.
Echo asked, “Do you have any pictures of the jewels?”
“We had a shot taken of us that evening in full dress, of course. I believe it’s packed away with our costumes. Would you like me to check?”
Five minutes later, they were in one of the closed-off bedrooms whose closet was neatly stacked with clearly marked storage cartons. It only took Priscilla a moment to find the correct one. Lifting the cardboard lid, she removed clothing one article at a time— an old-fashioned tux and shirt, gold beaded flapper dress and matching purse among others. From the bottom of the carton, she pulled out a smaller box in which she’d placed the invitation, her formal dance card and a pack of photographs.
She gave them to Echo, who took a quick look at the top shot, then passed the pack on to Bram.
While he was busy studying the photographed jewels, Echo seemed to be taken by the garments on the bed, no doubt attracted to the glitz. She picked up the beaded bag and turned it over carefully.
“What’s this?” she asked, as something slipped from the bag’s mouth.
Bram noted the smaller silk pouch was embroidered with some strange symbols.
“My maid insisted I carry it for good luck. She was very superstitious. Her upbringing, I suppose.”
Echo fingered open the pouch and her eyes widened as she peered inside. “Your maid? Where was she from?”
“Oh, somewhere in the Caribbean. She was very young when we hired her to work in our Palm Beach home, but she became so indispensable we quickly began taking her to all our residences. We were together through some difficult times for both of us.” Priscilla shook her head. “I was sorry to let her go after our turn in fortune. Of course I had no choice. I gave her excellent references, but she didn’t take with her new employers. One day, she just up and disappeared.”
“Her name,” Echo said. “What was it?”
“Letitia,” Priscilla said. “You haven’t met her, have you?”
Bram frowned. What was Echo’s interest in a maid?
“No, I haven’t,” Echo said. “Did Letitia come along to the ball?” she asked, making him even more curious about her line of thought.
“Why, yes. Adrienne asked if she could prepare some of her exotic dishes for the buffet and Letitia agreed.”
“Interesting.”
But Echo was obviously not about to be forthcoming as to why at the moment, and Bram chose not to press her until they were alone.
He indicated the photo. “Could I borrow these for a while?”
Priscilla waved a hand. “You may keep them. I have no desire to dredge up old memories. Not bad ones, at any rate. I doubt that I would ever have removed anything from this box if you hadn’t asked.”
Bram stuffed the pack of photos in his jacket pocket, while Priscilla quickly repacked and replaced the storage carton. Then she led them back downstairs to the living room where they retook their original seats.
Sitting at the edge of the couch, Bram asked, “At the ball, did anyone seem overly interested in your jewels?”
“Everyone.” Priscilla’s laugh was still a girlish trill. “They were worth a fortune.”
“Who knew you would be wearing them?” Echo queried.
“Everyone,” Priscilla said again. “I must admit I am not the most discreet woman. My husband bought me objects of beauty and I enjoyed bragging.”
“What about my father?” Bram asked.
”No!” Priscilla stared at him for a moment. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to making the connection. A logical assumption since both my jewels and your father disappeared at the same time. As I assured the police, he had nothing to do with the theft.”
Though relieved, Bram kept pressing. “How can you be so certain?”
“He was such an honorable man. And far too preoccupied to be planning some nefarious scheme.”
“Preoccupied with the guests?”
“Katherine had...” Priscilla’s eyes widened and she seemed to be biting back what she was about to say.
“What about my mother?”
Flustered, she quickly said, “I merely supposed they were both completely involved with all the nuances of hosting a memorable ball.”
Though Bram didn’t challenge her, he had an odd and unwelcome feeling about what she refused to say.
“The button.” Echo pulled a small pad and pen from her pocket. “I wonder if you might remember it? It was solid gold with tiny faceted diamonds and emeralds.” She made a quick sketch.
Priscilla looked it over and did not hesitate. “That came from a vest. I remember admiring it, and wondering if the materials could be real. He assured me they were.”
“Who?”
The older woman concentrated. “It was... no... I’m afraid I don’t remember.”
“Are you certain?” Bram asked, disappointed.
“I remember admiring them, thinking how grand they were.” She shook her head.
Figuring that was it, all they were going to learn, Bram rose. “We’ve taken enough of your time.”
“Yes, thank you.” Echo joined him. “You’ve been very cooperative.”
“But not particularly helpful,” Priscilla said with a sigh. “What difference does the truth make now after thirty years, anyway?”
All the difference in the world to him, Bram thought.
There had to be a connection between the jewel theft and the death. He wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until he figured out why someone had felt it necessary to kill his father.
WHAT MADE one human being kill another?
The age-old question haunted him.
He stood a lonely sentinel in the window of the library, dark but for the embers that glowed and sparked in the fireplace. If only flames could warm him. He’d been cold and empty and devoid of emotion for so very long.
Until she came.
Staring out into the night, he watched the sedan snake along the drive and turn off toward the coach house. Watched them alight in silence.
Watched her.
Echo St. Clair. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman with an even more beautiful psyche.
The aura surrounding her vibrated and danced invitingly as she drew closer to the house. That she might enter this very room quickened his spirit. He was drawn to her by some strange and wondrous bond that transcended time and circumstance, a bond that even he could not explain.
After an eternity of nothingness, she had wakened his very soul and for that he would ever be grateful.
He knew the moment she stepped foot in the house, for the structure wakened from its deathly slumber and sighed with contentment. Her voice floated on the very air. Soft. Earthy. Filled with concern for Bram.
Concentrating, he sensed something else that made him uneasy. An evil that lurked in the shadows... growing... waiting to be fed.
An evil that if not stopped, would cast Echo in the same hell that was his curse.
NOT KNOWING why Echo lingered to delve into his private hell rather than escape to the quiet isolation of her own home, Bram opened the door for her and let her inside.
“Lena,” he said to himself. She would know.
“What?”
Preoccupied, Bram didn’t bother answering, but went straight to the back of the house and through the kitchen to the housekeeper’s quarters. He knocked at the door. Waited a moment. Rapped harder.
“Surely she’s not asleep yet,” Echo said. “Maybe she’s out for the evening.”
“Something I can do for you, Mr. Bram?”
He whirled around, noting the housekeeper had given Echo a start, too. Lena had appeared out of nowhere. Or out of the butler’s pantry, he thought, noting the door was cracked open. Staring for a second, he visualized another door. A hidden door. Leading to a hidden staircase.
“I need to talk to you.”
Her expression was inscrutable. “A problem with the house?”
“With the past, Lena.”
She seemed instantly on the alert. Bram took a better look at her. The top button of her Mother Hubbard dress was undone. And her scraped-back hair was awry. A few strands dangled along her neck as if someone had mussed it.
“My father... was he preoccupied with something the night of his death?”
“Mr. Donahue had many things on his mind.”
“Anything out of the ordinary? Anything to do with my mother?”
Lena took her time answering. Bram couldn’t miss the glint in her eyes. Knowing. Smug? As though she’d been waiting for this opportunity, he thought.
“It had to do with the divorce.”
She dropped the bomb without preamble and Bram could only stare. He couldn’t have been more surprised if Lena had slapped him across the face.
“The divorce,” he echoed. He was stunned, really, hardly felt the comforting hand Echo immediately placed on his arm.
“Miss Katherine only told Mr. Donahue that she planned to leave him that very morning.”
“Mother asked Father for a divorce that morning?”
He said it as if he’d known of the impending split if not the details, when in fact, he’d never had a clue. He felt as if he were seven again, and as if his world would never be the same.
“Such terrible timing,” the housekeeper continued, her eyes reflecting her elation. “Poor Mr. Donahue. That woman was unusually cruel to him. She should have waited until after the weekend when the guests were gone.”
Though he wanted to walk away from this, go somewhere to think it through alone, he stuck it out. “My father told you about my mother wanting a divorce?”
DANGEROUS, Collection #1 Page 31