She touched her lips, remembering that long, hot kiss. No, he didn’t have any reason to come here. Not while she was still tied up with Jonathan. And even if she wasn’t.
It was only a kiss. One, simple, hot, crazy kiss.
But the quivers in her belly made her think maybe it hadn’t been so simple.
Jonathan hadn’t called since Ethan answered the phone late last night, and she wasn’t certain how she felt about that.
She wasn’t certain how she felt about anything regarding Jonathan anymore. In fact, she was rather enjoying her life without him in it. She hadn’t missed him at all.
He was, she’d realized, a lot of work.
Not only that, but she was beginning to feel very much at home in this restful lake house. Far more than she ever thought she would, coming from an exciting, rewarding, high-speed job in the big city. Despite the odd things that had been happening, she was actually enjoying the opportunity to relax and be carefree.
The thought struck her: The Fool.
It was the first card she’d seen from the Tarot deck. And hadn’t her first thought upon seeing it been that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as carefree as the Fool seemed?
A shiver ran across the back of her shoulders and the hair on the nape of her neck prickled. She placed her dinner on the table and contemplated the absurd, ludicrous, impossible thought that the card—which had fallen randomly from the deck—had a pointed meaning in her life.
Besides…soon she’d be back at McNillan—in another two weeks at the absolute latest—and she’d have to decide what to do about the house. Did she really want to have to maintain and manage the property from Chicago?
But if she sold it, she’d feel a little like she was betraying Aunt Jean.
Don’t sell the house, she thought suddenly. It would make a nice retreat. It’s not that far from Chicago—only a few hours, and it would be nice to have a place to take the kids—
Whoa. What? She tried to stop the thought, but it roared in from nowhere and would not be ignored—instead, settling in her mind like a stubborn anchor.
Two children, she thought, her mind galloping off—maybe three. And suddenly, a picture—as clear and tangible as a photograph—flashed into her mind: two small dark-haired boys and a toddling little girl chasing a big, dark dog, and Diana herself laughing at them, joining the chase over an expanse of green grass—
A big dog? She didn’t even like dogs.
And she was afraid of the big ones.
But the image in her mind had been so real.
“Don’t be silly,” she said aloud, looking at Motto—who sat waiting hopefully for more food to appear in her dish. Diana gave a sharp shake of her head, then poured a healthy glass of the Pinot Gris she’d pulled from the fridge. “It was just a random thought.”
But as she sat at the table and settled in to eat, Diana thought about The High Priestess. She looked at Motto again. “How did you manage to pick out that card more than once, anyway?”
The cat swished its tail and gave a guttural meow that sounded annoyed.
The High Priestess. Look beyond the obvious. Open your mind.
That was what Ethan had said about the card.
And that card, Diana reminded herself as the queer feeling rumbling in her stomach became more insistent, had turned up three times.
Or been turned up.
Here, in the full light of day, she could no longer deny it. Something or someone had made those cards turn up. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It wasn’t random.
Even her logical, science-based mind had to acknowledge that.
She bit her lip and looked around as if to see a ghostly presence hovering nearby, as if her unspoken thoughts had summoned it.
I can’t believe I’m actually thinking this.
Diana took a gulp of wine so large she didn’t even enjoy it, then she set the glass down. Her heart was beating hard and her palms were damp.
She closed her eyes, gripped the edge of the table, and said aloud: “Aunt Jean…if you’re really there…give me a sign.”
Ethan tossed the tennis ball straight into the air so high that it sang through the topmost branches of a pine, then caught it when it came whistling back down. He threw the neon yellow ball up again, flickering a glance at an at-attention Cady, who was frozen, poised to take off after it should he pitch it horizontally.
“Ready?” he asked, excitement lighting his voice. The lab’s ears perked up and her eyes brightened even more, riveted on the ball. Ethan wound up and fired the ball over the lab’s head, toward the lake.
Cady was after it like a shot, thrashing through the forest down, and probably into, the water. Ethan stood, hands on his hips, watching her black tail spiral down the incline. It was just brushing up against evening, and this was the first time he’d really been outside all day. He’d been working on thoughts for his new book, ignoring Cady’s pitiful, hopeful eyes, from ten a.m. until now—which was, he glanced at his phone to check—almost seven.
Ethan looked up at the towering pines enclosing the clearing that was his yard. Then he found himself looking northwest, toward Jean’s house. Something kindled in his belly.
Hot damn. What a kiss.
And damned if he hadn’t tossed and turned more than a little over it last night. Diana had taken advantage of Ethan—manipulated his presence—to get back at her cardiologist for cheating on her. That much had been clear from her side of the conversation.
It had been easier for him to get to the phone—she was still recovering from her migraine. She still looked frail and fragile.
It had been logical for him to answer the call.
Still, he knew she’d deliberately made the decision for him to do so. She was not the type of person to do anything impulsively.
Clearly there were issues between her and Wertinger, and while part of Ethan would relish it if Diana dumped the pinhead’s ass, at the same time he didn’t want to play any part in the reason.
But Ethan’s tolerance for infidelity was nonexistent after his experience with Jenny and Lexie, and clearly Wertinger had already crossed that line. So, in his mind, the guy deserved what he got.
In the end, after weighing out everything, Ethan figured he hadn’t been totally gypped in the bargain. He might have been taken advantage of, but he’d also taken some of that advantage back.
The problem was, one kiss hadn’t been nearly enough. Now that he’d tested things out, he definitely wanted more.
Cady came crashing up the slope, dripping wet, ball clutched in the back of her jaws. She pranced proudly in front of Ethan, circled him four times, squatted to pee, then paused to shake the water from her short fur. Then she dropped the ball at his feet.
Ethan picked up the ball, this time using a baseball bat to thwack it into the woods toward the general vicinity of Diana’s house, and wondered what the chances were of it making the mile to her yard so he had to chase it down.
And then, just as if he’d conjured her up, the sleek gold Lexus came around the corner of his drive.
Surprised and delighted, Ethan nevertheless managed to keep a carefully polite, easy look on his face as he ambled over to greet her.
“You took the drive a little slower this time,” he teased as he approached her window. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“Ethan,” she said, leaping out of the car without turning it off. “I—” She glanced over, gasped, and practically fell back into the car, slamming the door shut as Cady barreled up to them, barking like a maniac.
Ethan took one look at her wide eyes and pale face and realized that though she was afraid of the dog, something else had also upset her.
“Cady, down.” His voice was low and firm, and the black lab dropped to the ground as if she’d been shot.
Good girl, he thought proudly, and bent to give her the kudos she deserved. That was one of the most important commands for a dog to learn to heed—especially one that lived near deer, skunks, an
d other wildlife.
Nevertheless, as he petted Cady, Ethan looked up into Diana’s car window. “Something’s wrong. Something happened.”
She nodded vehemently, and her face was still pale. But he didn’t think it was only because of Cady. “It’s all right. She won’t hurt you. You can get out of the car,” he told Diana.
“I—Ethan, can you come back to my house? Now? Please?”
The taut urgency in her voice put to bed any possibility that she wanted him back at her place so she could tear off his clothes and take advantage of him (damn). So he replied, “Sure. Just let me put Cady—this is Cady, by the way—inside.”
His heart broke when he saw the crestfallen expression in the lab’s eyes—not only was this interrupting their playtime, for which she’d waited patiently all day, but she didn’t even get to meet or greet the new person? And now she had to go inside while he left? And she hadn’t even done anything wrong!
“Aw, damn it, Cady, I’m sorry,” he told her as she followed him inside, tail and head drooping. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
And he did—rummaging in the fridge to find half a hamburger he had left over from a few days ago. “Here you go, good girl. Hope this takes some of the sting out of this. I promise you’ll get to meet her next time,” he said, giving her a last pat on the head. “I’ll make sure there is a next time, and, trust me, you’ll like the way she smells.”
Because he knew Diana was waiting, and that something had upset her, he didn’t linger. Nothing like being caught between two females, he thought grimly. But at least with Cady, he knew exactly where he stood—and dogs were far more forgiving than their human counterparts.
“Did someone break in again?” he asked as soon as he closed the door to the car. “Joe Cap had one of his officers drive by every hour or so last night, but she might have missed something.”
Diana glanced at him as she navigated the drive. She seemed calmer but her fingers were white knuckled on the steering wheel. “He did? That was nice of him.”
“We figured with everyone being at the party, whoever tried before might be tempted to try again, knowing the house would be empty.” Ethan shrugged. “I guess if Helga—that’s her name, Officer Helga van Hest; she’s Orbra’s granddaughter, you know—had seen anything, she would have let you know. And if you’d noticed anything you’d have done so before now.”
“No, I didn’t hear anything from the police. But something did happen. I wanted to show you.”
Mystified, he settled back in his seat for the two more minutes it took to get to Jean’s house.
She took him to the back door, by the kitchen. “I was getting ready to eat dinner—”
“Whatever it was, it smells amazing,” he said as she put her hand on the door to open it, and realized he was starving.
She cast a mildly exasperated glance at him, then continued. “And I don’t know why—I really am not sure why I did this—it’s just not like me to—well, anyway, I…was annoyed with everything. About the Tarot cards, and—and some other stuff. And I just kind of called out to Aunt Jean…”
By now Ethan was staring at her as she fumbled through her explanation in a very uncharacteristic manner. “You called out to your dead aunt?” he repeated carefully.
“I told her if she was really there, could she give me a sign,” she finished grimly.
Ethan’s pulse had kicked up and he looked at her hand, which was still closed over the doorknob. “I take it she did.”
“See for yourself.” She shoved the door open.
Chapter Nine
Whoa.
Ethan stepped over the kitchen threshold and took in the scene.
Diana’s uneaten dinner, neatly arranged with a wine glass, napkin, and flatware, sat undisturbed on the table.
But the rest of the place was pretty much a disaster—and he didn’t think it was from her cooking. Broken plates. Tumbled pots and pans. A half-open drawer with tongs, spatulas, and other utensils spilling out. The narrow rag rug that had been in front of the stove ever since Ethan had met Jean was now hanging from the open door of the pantry.
“Fortunately, she didn’t go for the knives,” Diana said in a surprisingly calm voice.
“Or your dinner,” Ethan said, matching her tone.
Because what else could he do? He couldn’t laugh…not quite yet.
“Right.” She still stood on the threshold. “It was like a cyclone, Ethan. I was sitting there, and all of a sudden…” She shrugged, at a loss for words, and just flapped her hands around.
Diana’s face was pale and her eyes wide, but to his surprise, she didn’t seem frightened. She seemed…subdued. And strangely accepting. It never occurred to him not to believe her account; not only did he have a wide open mind for the metaphysical and supernatural, but there was no other explanation.
“I’ll help you clean up,” he said. “And then we can talk. But I am kind of hungry,” he added wistfully, looking at the untouched plate of pasta.
Diana gave a short laugh. “It won’t take me long to make you a plate, too.”
“Thank God,” he said with his own desperate chuckle. “Because that smells amazing. In fact, why don’t you cook and I’ll clean up.”
It didn’t take all that long for him to put the mess to rights. Aunt Jean hadn’t gone for total destruction; she’d just wanted to make her point.
“Wine?” Diana asked as Ethan swept up the last bit of broken china.
“I think a big glass would be in order,” he told her.
“I’ll say.” She gave him exactly what he asked for: a very generous pour of the straw-colored vintage she’d had open.
And by the time he swallowed his first sip, she was tossing two portions of oily, garlic-scented pasta in large, shallow bowls. His mouth watered as she grated cheese over each one, then sprinkled each mound with shredded basil and red pepper flakes.
“I didn’t eat lunch or dinner,” he confessed as they sat down. “I’m really glad you asked Jean to give you a sign.”
Diana chuckled, and he felt another clutch in his gut. She was laughing more in his presence now, and he hadn’t exaggerated—she was breathtaking when she relaxed and smiled.
Was she also more relaxed now that she had irrefutable, black and white proof of what she’d tried to resist? Ethan had a strong suspicion that was the case, though he thought better of saying it.
But when, after two small bites of pasta and a large gulp of wine, Diana finally spoke, her words stopped him cold.
“Aunt Jean was murdered.”
He had a mouthful of the hollow, spaghetti-like bucatini, otherwise he might have responded—though he didn’t know what he would have said.
Diana went on. “It’s a long story, but after today—after this,” she said, sweeping the vicinity of the kitchen with her hand, “I kind of have to believe it.”
She took a sip of wine, then continued. “I’ve been having nightmares ever since I got here. Every night, when I slept in Aunt Jean’s bed, I would wake up from these horrible dreams. It took me until Saturday morning, after the worst of them all, before I realized I was dreaming about being smothered.”
She looked at him from under her lashes, and he recognized the mixture of shyness and determination in her eyes. This was difficult for her—the entire situation was, but also—and perhaps even more so—the verbalization of what she’d experienced and her obvious change of belief. Thus, he didn’t interrupt. He did nothing but nod encouragingly and keep his expression steady. He didn’t want to spook her—so to speak.
“I was not only dreaming of being smothered, but I was dreaming that I was Aunt Jean being smothered. At first I just thought it was related to sleeping in the bed where she’d died, but…it seemed like more than that. And then I was kind of speaking out loud—to the cats,” she added quickly, bringing a quick smile to his face, “about how I didn’t believe in stuff like that, or ghosts or…whatever.” She hunched a little, looking up as if expect
ing another cyclonic sign from Jean.
“And I heard this loud noise from the library—this was Sunday night, after Captain Longbow checked out the house and left after I was broken into—and so I knew I was alone. I thought it was the cats, but they were upstairs. So…” She drew in a deep breath, exhaled, sipped her wine, then continued.
“I went into the den. And there were five books on the floor. They had to have just fallen—or been tossed—because they weren’t there when Captain Longbow and I looked through the house. And the title of each one of them began with the word ‘murder.’” She twirled bucatini around her fork, then slipped it in her mouth.
“Well,” said Ethan after a long moment. “I would say Jean was giving you a pretty clear message.” He started to take another bite of the most excellent meal, then paused. “Last night, in the boat…did you say what I thought you said? That Jean had picked those Tarot cards?”
She was staring at him with such soft, warm, emotion-filled eyes that his pulse skittered more wildly than Cady’s nails on wood floors.
“You believe me.”
It took him a moment to steady his voice so he could speak. “Of course I believe you, Diana. If anyone had the ability to come back and haunt someone so they could find her murderer, it would be Genevieve Fickler.”
She laughed, and tears began to sparkle in her eyes. He understood they were tears of relief and release rather than mirth, and that made him fall even harder for her. Right then.
Boom. He was cooked.
“Tell me about the cards Jean picked for you,” he said in an effort to distract himself from the wild mess he was in.
“When I was putting away the, uh, murder books, the phone rang in the kitchen and I ran out of the den to answer it. I knocked into the piecrust table, and the Tarot card box fell off. That had happened before,” she said, then bit her lip as she collected her thoughts, “and that’s yet another thing I have to tell you—how The High Priestess kept turning up. Anyway, when I came back from answering the phone—this was still Sunday night, I picked up the spilled cards and put them away. And then I saw the two cards—the ones you noticed: the Wheel of Fortune and the Two of Swords. They were just sitting on Aunt Jean’s desk. Like someone had put them there.”
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