Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

Looking at him, Clare had that same feeling of breathlessness thatshe’d experienced at the church supper. He peered intently at her and his eyes widened in surprise.

  “You’re Clare Prentice?”

  “Guilty as charged,” she said, feeling suddenly awkward.

  “I saw you at the church last night.” He remained motionless as if he still couldn’t believe it. Then with a shake he stepped out onto the porch. “Don’t just stand there, Erika. Let the poor woman in out of the heat.”

  Erika let out a harrumphing sound of annoyance and pulled the door open. Clare stepped inside, grateful to be out of the sun. As the door closed behind her, it let out a prolonged squeak and she felt a shiver run through her body. The sound made her knees weak and she clenched her fingers around the notebook under her arm. Beckoning her to follow him, Hanssen turned toward the house.

  Still feeling unsteady, Clare followed, walking cautiously on trembling legs. Erika skipped around her and disappeared. As Clare put her hand out to grasp the doorframe in a fight to control her body, she spotted the decorative bell that hung beside the door.

  The cast-iron bell was an oval shape with a slight flare at the bottom below the floral carvings along the midsection. It hung by a ring from a metal post driven into the wood beside the door. Above the post was a slender angel with delicately engraved wings.

  Hanssen turned and noticed her scrutiny of the bell. “The bell was originally on the front door of the house and I kept it after we renovated the place. It’s got a lovely sound.”

  He pulled on the black braided twine attached to the bell and alow gong resonated in the morning air. The sound seemed to reverberate inside Clare’s entire body. The bell’s tone intensified her unsteadiness. Her knees buckled. Waves of blackness washed over her. Strong hands grabbed her before she could fall to the ground.

  “I’ve got you.” Hanssen’s deep voice came from a distance and she fought to remain conscious. “Erika!”

  Clare relaxed against Hanssen’s arm, feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous. She closed her eyes and listened as he barked out orders.

  “Get a wet washcloth and some ice. Bring them to the family room.” With his mouth close to her ear, he asked, “Can you walk?”

  She nodded her head, immediately regretting the movement as her vision blurred. Half carrying her, he led her along the hallway toward the back of the house. She felt the cool leather against the back of her legs as he set her down on the sofa. A wet cloth was pressed against her neck and she jumped at the cold sensation.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Erika asked.

  “We’ll have to wait to find out,” Hanssen replied.

  Clare felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she listened to the voices. She was feeling better but was now too embarrassed to open her eyes. Knowing she’d have to eventually, she covered her eyes with her hand, and peered through a slit in her lids.

  Nathan Hanssen was kneeling beside the couch, a washcloth in his hand. His expression of concern was in sharp contrast to Erika’s look of annoyance.

  “Maybe she’s faking it,” the girl said.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “To weasel her way inside the house.”

  Nathan laughed, “She was invited inside, remember? She probably didn’t eat breakfast.”

  Unable to stand having them talk over her, Clare dropped her hand to her lap and opened her eyes.

  “I am so sorry,” she said. “I feel impossibly stupid.”

  Relief was evident on Nathan’s face as he smiled at her. If Clare weren’t already dizzy, his smile might have sent her into a maidenly swoon. Nathan Hanssen was incredibly handsome when heturned on the charm.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Clare moved to a more upright position and nodded. “I don’t know what it was.” As she said the words a picture flashed into her mind. “For some reason when I heard the sound of the angel bell I thought I was going to faint. I don’t know if it was the tone. . .”

  “It’s the curse,” Erika interrupted.

  “Oh please, Erika. Don’t start that nonsense.” Nathan’s voice was sharp.

  “It is, Dad. We put the bell there to ward off any danger from the curse.”

  “Try to be nice to Miss Prentice while I get us some brandy. All the best romantic comedies recommend brandy, so who am I to go against tradition.”

  Shooting a warning glare at Erika, he left the room. The girl made a face at his back then returned her attention to Clare.

  “Is it an ancient curse?” Clare asked, anxious to fix her mind on something other than her current dizziness.

  With a careful glance to be sure her father had really left the room, Erika bounced down beside Clare and leaned toward her, her own face alight with excitement. It was clear that she was enjoying every bit of Clare’s discomfort.

  “When the house was being rebuilt, I found that plaque to hang outside the screen door. Dad liked it too but said it was a pagan symbol. A witchy thing.”

  “Wicca?” Clare asked.

  “That’s it. He wasn’t sure if it was good luck or not to hang it over the door. But I really liked it and I talked him into it.” She cast her father a gloating expression as he came back into the room.

  “I’m sure Miss Prentice would rather hear about something else,” he said.

  “It’s all right. I’m interested in her story.”

  “Well, take a sip of this. I don’t know what caused your sinking spell, but I’m sure this will help.”

  Hehanded her a small crystal snifter. She sniffed tentatively then raised it to her lips to take a small swallow. It was a very fine brandy, she thought, as she rolled it over her tongue and let the warmth slide down her throat. Cautiously she took another sip and could feel the heat spread throughout her body.

  Erika tapped her foot against the floor, watching Clare much like a robin eyeing a worm. Setting the glass on the table beside the couch, Clare nodded to the girl.

  “So the sign above the door is a Wiccan symbol?”

  “Dad thinks it is.” Erika cast a disparaging glance at her father who was sitting on the ottoman beside the couch. “I looked it up at the library and it’s also a symbol of the three phases of the moon. A waxing crescent, a full moon, and the waning crescent.”

  “It’s an ancient symbol used in pagan and nonpagan cultures.” Hanssen’s deep voice was nonjudgmental. “You see it in many decorative objects. Sometimes it’s three spirals or it could be intertwined crescents. In Wicca it’s the symbol for the Triple Goddess.”

  “Strangely enough, I know about that,” Clare said. “Maiden, mother, and crone. I thought there was something familiar about the sign but I just couldn’t place it. I can even quote a passage from Robert Graves’sThe White Goddess.

  TheNew Moon is the white goddess of birth and growth; The Full Moon, the red goddess of love and battle; The Old Moon, the black goddess of death and divination.

  That explains the paint colors on the plaque over your front door.” “Very good,” Hanssen said. “Not many people would have

  caught that. You must be well read.”

  He smiled across at her as if she were a particularly apt pupil.

  Erika tapped her foot again, annoyed at the talk between the

  adults.

  “Rose, my m . . . mother, used to call me a changeling when

  Imisbehaved.” Clare stumbled over the word, but recovered and

  spoke directly to Erika, wanting to include her in the conversation.

  “Ihave a birthmark on my shoulder. It resembles three intertwined circles. My mother told me it was a witch’s symbol that

  marked me as someone who could be bad. She said it was put there

  to remind me that I would have to try very hard to be a good

  person.”

  “It sounds like your mother was a bad person,” Erika said,

  folding her arms across her chest.

  “Not bad. Just rather stern.”

&
nbsp; Clare flushed. Her dizzy spell must have rattled her tongue

  loose since she couldn’t remember when she had mentioned this

  personal fact to anyone but her friend Gail. She’d never even told

  her ex-fiancé. With a quick glance across at Hanssen, she could see

  in his expression that he was assessing her comments. Wanting to

  deflect his attention, she turned to Erika.

  “So the sign is to ward off any bad luck to the house?” she

  asked.

  “No. Not the plaque.” Erika lowered her voice to a more

  conspiratorial tone. “That was for good luck. The bell was to ward

  off the curse.”

  “Erika.” There was a warning note in Hanssen’s voice. “Oh, Dad. She’s a reporter. She’s bound to dig it up anyway.”

  The girl shrugged her shoulders, then flipped her hair away from

  her face. “The bell was on the front door of the old house and I

  saved it when they started to tear it down.”

  “We didn’t tear it down,” Nathan explained. “The house

  belonged to my father. I pretty well gutted it after he died and I

  decided to move in here with Erika.”

  Clare looked around the room for the first time and was surprised at the modern simplicity. The room was entirely open, part

  kitchen, dining space, and family room, surrounded by floor-toceiling windows that looked out onto a deck and the lake. The furniture was wood and leather with a luxurious area rug in warm

  browns, reds, and green.

  “I’ll show you around when you feel up to it.”

  “Not until I’ve told her about the bell,” Erika said. Her voice held a bit of a whine as if she wasn’t used to being

  interrupted. In fact it was apparent to Clare that Erika was very

  used to having her father’s total attention and didn’t relish Clare’s

  presence as a distraction.

  “I’d like to hear about the bell,” Clare said.

  Erika wriggled on the couch, like an excited puppy. “I took

  the bell down when they hauled the old door away. When Dad

  complained about the sign over the porch door, I told him we

  should move the bell to the door into the house. That way if the murderer had cursed the place, the evil spirits would be trapped on

  the screened porch between the sign and the bell.”

  “The murderer?” Clare asked, amused how the young girl was

  relishing the drama of the storytelling.

  “Yes, there was a murder right in this house. How weird is

  that?”Erika leaned toward Clare until her face was only a foot

  away. “A man shot his wife to death and then dumped her body in

  the lake. And it all happened right here in this house. Maybe in this

  very room.”

  In an instant Clare understood why the sound of the bell had

  jogged her memory. This was the house where she had lived with

  her parents until she was four years old. This was the house where

  her father had killed her mother.

  S

  Chapter Seven

  “James Newton killed his wife in this house?” Clare asked. “You’ve obviously done your research since you know about

  our famous murder case,” Nate said.

  “This was the house the Newtons lived in,” Erika said. “James

  Newton shot his wife, Lily, to death and then dragged her body

  outside and threw it in the lake.”

  In an instant Clare realized that it was the sound of the bell

  that had triggered her fainting spell. She hadn’t recognized the

  house because of the renovations. It was the squeak of the screen

  door that had jogged her memory and then when she heard the

  ring of the bell, the connection was made. As she tried to force the

  return of the memories, she could feel the waves of blackness creep

  over her again.

  “That’s enough, Erika,” Hanssen snapped as he got up and

  came toward Clare. He recognized her distress instantly. “Breathe

  deeply, Miss Prentice. Don’t even consider fainting.” “Oh, Dad, it’s just like an old ghost story. She’s acting like a

  sissy.”

  Erika jumped to her feet and plopped down on the abandoned ottoman as Hanssen took her place on the couch. He

  reached across and grabbed the brandy glass.

  “Take another sip,” he said as he held it to her lips. Clare covered his hand with her own and took a quick swallow. The liquor burned her tongue. She sucked in her breath and

  she started to cough. The coughing cleared her head and her vision steadied. She realized she was still holding his hand and she

  snatched her fingers away.

  “Good lord, I’m swooning like a Victorian debutante,” she

  said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Mr. Hanssen.” “For starters, you can call me Nate. If I’m going to keep

  reviving you, I think we might consider ourselves on friendly

  terms.”

  The warmth in his blue eyes took any sting out of his words.

  Clare ignored Erika’s snort of disgust. “You and Erika can call me

  Clare. And please don’t look so concerned. I’m really much better

  now.”

  “Why don’t we go out to the deck. I think the fresh air will

  be good for you. Would you like some more brandy?” “No! I try not to get drunk before noon.”

  Nate grinned. “Then how about some iced tea?” “That would be fine.”

  Clare was aware of the stormy expression on Erika’s face as

  Nate held out his hand to help her up. She smiled at the girl to diffuse the situation but sensed that it was a lost cause.

  “Can you get out the tea, Erika?” Nate asked.

  Without replying, the girl pushed herself off the ottoman and

  stomped toward the kitchen. Nate opened the French doors that

  led out to the deck.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said. Nate brushed

  off the cushion on the chaise lounge, waiting until she sat down.

  “Put your feet up and breathe in some fresh air. I’ve got a couple

  ofthings to do and then Erika and I will join you.”

  Nate watched her as she settled back against the cushions and

  closed her eyes. Her cheeks were still pale, but her breathing was

  more even than it had been before. It had frightened him when her

  skin whitened and she appeared ready to pass out again. Wait until

  he told Ann Taylor that her reporter had indeed fainted on his

  doorstep.

  Now that she was resting, he felt it was safe to leave her. He

  returned to the house, closing the door quietly behind him. He

  turned left into the kitchen spotting Erika in the family room sitting cross-legged on the couch. If he hadn’t been angry, he might have laughed at her look of innocence. A ball of yarn lay beside her and her head was bent as she concentrated on the knit

  ting in her hands.

  Crossing the room to stand in front of her, he remained silent

  until she looked up at him. “Aren’t you the industrious little

  worker,” he said. “Weren’t you supposed to be getting the iced tea

  ready?”

  Her tongue stuck out as she negotiated the end of a row and

  then turned the piece around. “I just remembered that I hadn’t

  finished my knitting project for class tomorrow.”

  “Just remembered?” Knowing that sarcasm would be wasted

  on her, he abandoned that line of questioning. “What’s going on

  here, Erika? Why are you being so rude to Miss Prentice?” “I’m not being rude.
”

  At least she had the grace to blush, Nate thought as he eyed his

  daughter. How much she’d changed in the last year. He suspected

  that her hormones were in high gear but didn’t know what to do

  about it. Her mood swings in the past month would rival the ups

  and downs of the roller coasters at any theme park. He’d almost

  been tempted to call his mother in Florida for help, however he

  wasn’t that desperate yet.

  “It started before she even got inside the house. When I came

  out to the porch, you’d left her standing in the hot sun and you

  were glaring at her as if she was an unwelcome visitor.” “You didn’t want her here,” Erika said.

  “Whether I wanted her here or not has nothing to do with

  your behavior. That would be for me to deal with. Not you.” “Whatever.”

  “You know how I hate that word. Now put your knitting

  away and come help me. We’ll talk about this later.”

  With a put-upon air, she sighed. She stuck her knitting needles

  into the ball of yarn and grudgingly got off the couch. Nate had

  always wondered what it looked like when someone flounced, and

  now he had an actual example of it as she headed for the kitchen.

  He followed in her wake trying to hide his amusement. “She seems a nice enough woman, Erika.” He picked up a

  tray leaning against the back of the bar and put it on the countertop. “Why don’t you like her?”

  “I don’t know why she’s come all this way just for an interview. She could have done it on the phone.” She set two glasses on

  thetray. “And then she gets all fluttery at the mere mention of the

  murder.”

  “Maybe she forgot to eat breakfast and standing in the sun so

  long made her lightheaded,” he countered.

  “It’s not that hot out. I think she’s covering up something.

  She’s going to take notes and you’re going to be mad again.” “I’m sure she’s going to take notes. She’s a reporter.” At

  Erika’s snort, he chuckled. “Speaking of notes. What happened to

  her notebook? Check around for it, would you?”

  With another long-suffering sigh, Erika inspected the family

  room, and then headed down the hall. Nate got a lemon out of the