by Patti Berg
Every little detail? She could think of hundreds of things to say, she only hoped her plans for tonight with Matt wouldn’t leak into their conversation.
Elizabeth forgot all about Alex while they ate lunch. They talked about frivolous things like football and baseball, favorite movies, and music. They talked about travel, and politics, and what they would do in the spring. Afterward, they stopped at an antique store and Elizabeth bought two Tiffany lamps, and nearly two dozen hand-crocheted doilies that would look good as new once she bleached and blocked them. She found a set of bentwood and cane chairs in excellent condition, and although they were probably made in the early 1900s instead of the nineteenth century, she knew they’d be perfect on either side of the mahogany tea table she’d already begun to refinish.
They laughed and held hands; they even stole kisses; and Elizabeth leaned her head against Jon’s shoulder as he drove the winding road home.
The sun had gone down by the time they arrived in Sapphire. Together they unloaded Elizabeth’s purchases from the truck, and she sensed Alexander’s presence as she and Jon moved about the downstairs rooms. He didn’t appear, though, and he made no noise, but she felt him staring over her shoulder as they stood hand-in-hand in the doorway.
“Had enough of me for the day?” Jon asked, cupping her face in his hands.
She shook her head and kissed him, waiting till his eyes were closed so she could try to shoo Alex away.
But it didn’t work. Her friend might be invisible, but she knew he was hovering about, and she had the distinct feeling Alex was getting a little steamed over the kiss she and Jon were sharing.
“Why don’t you come over later? We can grill some steaks, play some slow music.” He kissed her ear, the curve of her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat, and she wanted to walk out the door with him right then and there. But she’d already accepted Matt’s invitation, and instead of a wonderful evening in Jon’s arms, she was going to spend too many minutes fending off—what was it Alex called Matt?—snail slime.
She wove her fingers through Jon’s hair and softly, tenderly, kissed his neck, moving her lips toward his ear. “I didn’t sleep well last night, Jon. Would you mind terribly if we got together tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s too far away. Tell you what. I’ll bring dinner here. After we eat, you can stretch out on the couch, and I’ll massage your shoulders.”
Oh, Lord! It sounded so good—but she couldn’t. Not tonight.
“It sounds lovely, but we’ve been together all day and—and I’m really tired.”
“I could tell funny stories. Make you laugh.” He tucked his chin into her neck and kissed her ear. “There are a whole lot of things I could do tonight to keep you awake.”
“I’m sure there are, but ...”
Jon backed away. “You’re playing hell with my self-confidence, Ellie.”
“I’ve had a wonderful day. I just want to be alone tonight. That’s all.”
He studied her eyes. Did he know her well enough to sense she wasn’t being truthful?
“Does this have anything to do with your visit with Matt today?”
“Of course not!”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Tell me the truth.”
“If I tell you the truth, you’ll get mad. You’ll say you can’t trust me. You’ll say I’ve been stringing you along and that I’m involved with Matt, and—”
Jon grabbed her shoulders. “I told you I trusted you. Dammit, why can’t you trust me enough to give me an honest answer?”
His eyes burned into hers, and she was afraid of his anger. Afraid that they’d built up a relationship and this one evening with Matt would ruin everything. She was afraid she might lose him.
She couldn’t tell him everything. But she could at least tell him the truth about her plans for the night. “Matt has some photo albums I want to look at.”
“Hell, Ellie, if that’s all it is, I’ll go over there myself and get them.”
“He won’t let them out of his house. I already asked.”
“This is insane. I thought we were going to have a nice evening together, and now you tell me you’d rather spend time at Matt’s, looking at some blasted photo albums.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“What?”
“I can’t explain.”
His fingers tightened on her arms. “Don’t go, Ellie.”
“I have to.”
“Why? Is he holding something over you? Something to do with your brother? Your partnership?”
“It’s nothing like that.” She tried to twist away, but Jon pulled her even closer. “Let me go. Please.”
“Give me one good reason.”
She pushed against him, and this time he released her. “I don’t need to give you a reason, Jon. I appreciate your concern, but this is my life, not yours.”
“I’m asking you one more time, Ellie. Don’t go.”
“You’re not asking at all. You’re telling. And you know what, Jon? I’m really tired of you and Matt and every other man telling me what to do.”
She opened the door and let in the cold, but the chill had already spread through her body—especially her heart. “Go home.”
“I know you don’t want to listen, but he’s dangerous.”
“Please, Jon. Just leave.”
He sighed deeply, grabbed hold of the brim of his Stetson, and pulled it low over his eyes. “I’ll be home if you need me.”
“I don’t need you,” she lied.
He looked at her one more time with imploring eyes, but Elizabeth turned away. She had to go. She had to.
For Alex.
She heard Jon’s bootsteps on the stairs and on the icy pavement.
And off in the distance, thunder rumbled through the darkened sky.
Chapter 12
“He’s right, you know. You have no business going to that buzzard’s home.”
“Leave me alone. Please,” Elizabeth snapped back when Alex appeared just inches from her nose.
‘You’re a woman, and whether you like it or not, you need a man to take care of you.”
“In your day, maybe. Not today.”
“Things like that don’t ever change.” Alex paced the length of the foyer, and Elizabeth leaned against the door, watching him.
“He may be a Winchester,” she said softly, “but Matt’s not a murderer.”
Alex stopped suddenly and stared at her. “Do you know that for sure?”
“He’s egotistical, self-centered, and a bore, but he’s not a murderer. I doubt he’s even a thief. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date to look at photographs—in an effort to help you, I might add.” She brushed past Alex and headed up the stairs.
“Mind if I follow?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “What if I said no?”
Alex laughed. “I’d follow anyway.”
“You know what they say about out of sight, out of mind?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that saying a time or two.”
“Well, unfortunately, it doesn’t apply with you.” Elizabeth walked straight to her closet and searched for something to wear; it didn’t matter what. She was more than positive Matt wouldn’t approve of anything she put on. And she didn’t care, either.
“How about this?” she asked, turning around and holding a strapless red sheath dress up to her body for Alexander’s perusal.
“Hell and tarnation, Elizabeth! He’ll have that thing off of you in half a second flat.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I didn’t think you’d approve.” She returned it to its hanger, then motioned for Alex to turn around. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to wear anything sexy or dangerous. But I would appreciate it if you’d turn around while I get dressed, and stay visible so I know you’re not watching.”
“You’re going to deny me the one little thrill I have in this existence of mine?”
Elizabeth nodded and motioned again with her finger for Alex to t
urn around. She busied herself searching through her closet, and when she turned around again, Alex stood at the window, staring down at the town.
“It hasn’t changed much in a hundred years, has it?” she asked.
Alex shrugged. “Hardly ever see a horse on the street anymore. Not many people go into church on Sunday morning, either. I remember when that cafe across the road used to be the saloon owned by Luke Winchester. And I remember when women used to dress up all pretty in frills.”
“Did Phoebe Carruthers dress up in frills?”
Alex snorted a laugh. “Of course not. Black. Nothing but black. The respected widow wouldn’t do anything wrong, unless she was behind closed doors.”
Elizabeth slid a red knit dress over her head and smoothed the clinging fabric over her curves. “Did she do anything with Luke Winchester behind closed doors?”
“Before, during and after he married my Amanda.”
“Tell me what you know about their relationship.”
“Can I turn around yet?”
Elizabeth walked toward the window. “How’s this?”
Alexander’s eyes roamed from the neck-covering collar, over the long sleeves, and down the slim fitting dress that stopped just below her calves. He nodded his approval and swooped to his favorite place on the mantel, stretching out across its expanse.
“That big oaf who’s been hanging around here would have liked you in that dress.”
“I’d rather not talk about him.”
“He loves you, you know.”
“He’s a Winchester.”
“I suppose, but hell and tarnation, he sure doesn’t act like one.”
Elizabeth sat at the dresser and mirror Jon had found in the attic and carried down especially for her room and picked up the mother-of-pearl brush he said had once belonged to his grandmother. She slid it through the end of her braid and remembered him saying a pretty brush like that deserved beautiful, silky hair like hers.
Ripping a tissue out of a box, she dabbed it at her eyes.
“Maybe you shouldn’t help me, Elizabeth. Maybe you should make up with him,” Alex said.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I promised I’d help you, Alex. And Jon is just being a pigheaded fool. He has no reason to be jealous.”
“He’s more than jealous. He’s worried about you getting close to that scavenger.”
“Why are you sticking up for Jon?”
“Haven’t rightly figured that out yet.”
Elizabeth twisted around in her chair and looked at Alex, still stretched out on the mantel. As much as she wanted to think and talk about Jon, she needed to learn more from Alex. “I believe you were going to tell me about Phoebe and Luke.”
“Well, let’s see, “Alex began. “Phoebe had her sights set on Luke long before that husband of hers kicked the bucket. I had a hunch they were spending evenings together when the mister was out of town. Got easier for them when Carruthers passed on. Of course, no one in town knew the real truth. It was all speculation, mind you, and far be it from me to spread gossip.”
“Why was it such a secret after Phoebe’s husband died?”
“One year of mourning. It was expected, and Phoebe wanted respect more than anything. Luke came here a lot during that year, when Phoebe wasn’t entertaining other guests. He wined her and dined her, and Phoebe had a tendency to get a little tipsy. I was alive then, and living here. I saw it all, except what went on behind closed doors.”
“Do you think he loved her?”
“Luke Winchester never loved anyone,” Alex fumed. He swept down from the mantel, all casualness forgotten. He prowled the circumference of the room. “My theory’s always been that he was using Phoebe.”
“For what reason?”
“An alibi. He wasn’t at the church when that robbery happened. Neither was Phoebe. I think he planned the holdup for a long, long time, and he was just waiting for the right moment.”
“Did anyone ever ask them where they were when the robbery occurred?”
“That you’ll have to find out. If you’ll remember correctly, I was dead—buried six feet underground. First thing I remember after Luke tossed down those shovelfuls of dirt was trying to get my bearings, trying to get a clue about what had happened. Took quite a while to figure out I was dead. Took me even longer to figure out how to move, or go from room to room.”
Elizabeth swiped a tear from her cheek. She hated to think of all the pain Alex had endured. “You must have been frightened.”
“Yes, but that’s old news. When I realized I couldn’t get out of the house, I started searching rooms, looking for some other way out. First people I saw were Luke and Phoebe, going at it in this very room. Found out later it was his wedding night. He’d married my Amanda. Made her think he loved her, consummated the marriage, then left her alone. He and Phoebe were laughing about it. ‘One day soon this entire town will be mine,’ Luke told her.” Alex held his hands up in front of his face and studied them. “I tried to strangle him, but I couldn’t.”
“Why? You can move furniture. You can touch my hair and I can feel you.” Elizabeth hesitated a moment. “Not that it would have been right, but why couldn’t you strangle him?”
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Elizabeth grabbed her favorite red boots from the closet and sat down on the footstool next to the bed. Alex sat at her side and watched her pull the tight-fitting leather onto her legs.
“Did I ever tell you that you have mighty fine legs?” His cheerful laughter resounded through the room and lifted Elizabeth’s spirits. “I used to love those days when the wind kicked up,” he said. “I’d be walking down Main Street and a gust would catch the hem of a pretty lady’s skirt and swirl it way up above her knees. Of course, I quit wanting to look at other women the minute I set my sights on Amanda.” Alex looked into Elizabeth’s eyes and shook his head. “She had the prettiest legs I ever saw.”
He sighed and went back to the window. “She didn’t deserve the treatment she got from Luke. She deserved a husband who loved her. I would have killed Luke if I could. I tried putting my hands around his neck, but he never realized I was there. Back then I couldn’t even blow a speck of dust across the room.”
He paced again, his restlessness unnerving. He slumped into a chair near the fireplace and looked into Elizabeth’s eyes. “I was in this room the night Amanda died. Luke had brought a bottle of wine to celebrate. I think I hated him more for that than for murdering me. I have to get revenge, Elizabeth.”
“And I want to help. But I don’t want to hurt anyone—not Matt, and definitely not Jon.”
“I wish there were another way, but there isn’t. I swore I’d never leave as long as a Winchester walked the streets of Sapphire.”
“Can’t you just take back your vow? You died a hundred years ago, Alex. Could it really matter so much now?”
“It matters to me. I’ve always been an honest man, I’ve always kept my word, and I won’t go back on it now. You have to help me, Elizabeth. You have to.”
oOo
She didn’t want to go to Matt’s. She wanted to be in Jon’s arms. She wanted to forget Alex’s revenge, Jon’s anger, Matt’s photographs, and her promise to help. But she couldn’t forget any of those things.
Alex needed her, and she prayed Jon would want her again when all this insanity was over. As for Matt, she had to be pleasant. If she wasn’t, he might not show her the photos; he might not share his knowledge.
She pushed through the gate in the white rail fence and trudged up the crushed granite path bordered by winter-bare shrubs that led to Matt’s antebellum-style home.
The massive mansion with round white columns looked as cold and unwelcoming as Matt. She thought about turning around and running to the other end of town to spend the evening with Jon. That’s where she wanted to be, but instead, she put a boot on the first of a dozen marble stairs and kept on climbing until she reached the wide double doors.
Hesitantly she kn
ocked, hoping Matt had forgotten, but one of the doors opened just as her knuckles hit the wood the second time. “Good evening, Ms. Fitzgerald. Please come in. Mr. Winchester’s expecting you in the dining room.”
“Thank you,” she said to the... butler, a tall, gangly fellow decked out in a tux.
Formal. Too, too formal, and totally pretentious, just like Matt.
The butler took her coat and gloves and Elizabeth followed the stately gentleman with a heavy British accent through the entry and down a long, dimly lit hallway. When they neared the end, he left her standing at the entrance to a room where a blazing fire burned in a massive white marble hearth, and off to one side she saw Matt filling crystal stemware with dark red wine.
“You’re late,” he said, handing her a glass when she was close. “I expected you at seven.”
“It’s barely ten after. Surely a few minutes isn’t a crime.”
He sipped his wine. “This time you’re forgiven,” he said, smiling indulgently before he took another taste. He studied her over the rim.
All the fear Jon had tried to instill in her came rushing in when she looked into Matt’s obsidian eyes. Had Amanda seen obsidian eyes just like Matt’s when she’d looked at Luke? Did she fear him whenever he came near? Oh, Amanda ... why did you marry him?
Elizabeth brushed her fingers over tables and along the backs of chairs as she circled the room, wanting to stay out of range of Matt’s hands and his eyes. “You’ve done quite well for yourself,” she said, knowing she needed to make some type of conversation.
“Real estate’s lucrative; so’s the outfitting business. Of course, I owe most of this to my great-grandfather. He invested well.”
“So well he needed two homes in town?” she asked.
“He lived in Dalton House with his first wife, and built Winchester Place for his second. This one’s bigger and grander. It suited their needs and tastes.”
He poured more wine into Elizabeth’s glass before she could refuse. “Why all the questions?”
“A little gossip to spread to paying guests, that’s all.”
“Not much gossip where the Winchesters are concerned. My great-grandfather was a rich and powerful man in this town, as were my grandfather and my father.”