Where Secrets Sleep

by Marta Perry

  “True,” he conceded. “Guess it had better be the elevator.” He moved ahead of her to press the call button. The elevator creaked its way down to them, and he held the door.

  Allison’s glance took in the small enclosure as she negotiated the uneven gap into the elevator. “You guarantee this thing is safe?”

  “Absolutely.” He smiled, closing the door and pressing the button that would take them up. “It may be noisy, but it’s thoroughly inspected on a regular basis. Evelyn was always particular about that.”

  She nodded. “I saw the records in her files. She was very meticulous, wasn’t she?”

  “She was, yes.” As always, he sensed something cautious, something hidden and wary, when Allison spoke of her grandmother. “But you wanted to know about Mac’s interview with Ralph. Something in particular bugging you about Ralph?”

  “Did he say anything that was at all helpful?” She leaned against the wall of the elevator, easing the crutches away from her shoulders.

  “Not that I recall.” He frowned. “Complained mostly, about how inconvenient Spring Fest was. And he demanded to know how he could be expected to watch the stairs with all the turmoil going on.”

  Allison’s lips quirked. “Yes, I heard that lecture, as well. But did you realize that from the counter in the bookshop, you can hear the noise each time the elevator goes up or down?” The elevator shuddered to a stop with a protesting squeal. “That noise,” she said.

  Frowning, he opened the door and stood aside to let her get off. They were in the rear of the building here, near the doors to Allison’s office and the apartment, so no one was close enough to hear them talk.

  “So he’d have heard if anyone used the elevator on Saturday morning. Did you ask him?”

  Allison nodded. “He waffled a bit, but finally he said he didn’t think so.”

  Nick wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “Granted, the person who rigged the trap might have come up the back. That would be the sensible thing to do, I guess. But if Ralph didn’t hear the elevator—”

  “You can also hear people in the stairway.” She said it with a note of triumph, but then she sobered. “Well, you can if people are making much noise. Ralph complained about all the racket you made getting cabinets up and down the stairs.”

  Nick grinned. “I hope he didn’t hear Dad when one of the cabinets got stuck. But did he notice anyone going up or down on Saturday morning?”

  “He caught on right away what I was after. But he said he wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “Well, then...”

  “I asked about people passing the shop. There’s a window that looks straight out at that hall, and it would be in his line of sight if he was working at the computer.”

  “Mac asked him that, as well.”

  “Did he give Mac a direct answer? Because when I asked him, he evaded the question, going off into a complaint about Spring Fest instead.”

  Nick paused at the apartment door, pulling the keys from his jeans pocket. “Now that you mention it, he did the same with Mac. I guess it didn’t register at the time because it was so typical of Ralph. He never wants to give a direct answer to a question, and he’s usually obsessed with whatever complaint he has at the moment.”

  “Maybe that’s true.” She looked at him, her green eyes dark and serious. “Or maybe he did see or hear something and doesn’t want to be involved. Or is afraid to be involved.”

  “Afraid is the most likely scenario, if so.” He pushed the door open. “And if that’s the case, I’m not sure how we can get the truth out of him.”

  “If he’s pushed, surely he’d see that it’s safer to talk to the police than to be implicated in an attack by keeping silent.”

  “Fear has a way of trumping logic. Haven’t you noticed?” He waved a hand toward the apartment. “So? What do you think?”

  Allison made her way inside, watching her step with the crutches, before she looked up. “Wow. You’ve made a lot of progress in the past few days.”

  “It’s coming together,” he said. “Luckily the people we need to work with have been available. You have to make a final decision on the paint colors, and then the paint crew can get going on the living room.”

  Her expression suggested she was busy decorating the space in her thoughts. “A pale cream in here, I think. It’ll make this beautiful woodwork show up so well.”

  Nick grinned. “I’m glad to hear you’re not one of those people who call the woodwork old-fashioned and want to cover it with paint.”

  “That would be criminal.” She reached out to stroke the eight-inch-wide beveled strip that surrounded the door.

  “Come and see the kitchen. We’re almost ready for the countertop.” He couldn’t help the pride in his voice. They’d all worked overtime to get the cabinets done so the rest of the work could progress, but they hadn’t skimped on the effort.

  He led the way to the kitchen and went in first, wanting to see her expression when she viewed the work. “You’ll just have to visualize it with the hardware installed. That’ll be done this afternoon.”

  “Nick, it’s wonderful.” Allison’s face glowed with pleasure. “The cabinets are a masterpiece. I’m so glad we went with your father’s suggestion. They’re perfect.” Again she reached out with that characteristic gesture to stroke the cabinets, as if she could appreciate it better with her fingertips, and his own hands tingled.

  “Dad has a good eye for what things will look like when they’re in,” he said, trying to downplay his pleasure at her response. “I hope I’m developing it, but I’m not there yet.”

  “I can see exactly what the kitchen will look like when it’s finished. Minimal window treatments, to let all that light in, I think. And the tile is going to be perfect for the floor. You want a kitchen in a building like this to be light and warm and welcoming, not cold and sterile. I can’t tell you—”

  Enthusiasm and pleasure lit her eyes and warmed her voice. She turned toward him with one of her quick movements, maybe forgetting the crutches in her excitement. One slipped out of her control. She stumbled, gasping a little, and he caught her, holding her steady against his chest.

  “Easy.” His voice had turned husky despite an effort to keep it light. “The last thing you need is another tumble.”

  She put her hands on his chest to steady herself, and the second crutch slid to the floor. He could feel the warmth of her palms through the worn flannel of his shirt, the touch more sensual than the way she had touched the cabinet he’d crafted. Her breath caught, and she looked up at him, eyes darkening.

  He swore silently. He hadn’t meant to do this again. But with her eyes meeting his and her body pressed against his chest, what was a man to do?

  With a repressed groan, he bent his head and kissed her. She tasted of warmth, and longing, and challenge all at once, and he knew it to be a dangerous combination, but he brushed the voice of caution away. He deepened the kiss, feeling her arms go around him, tentative at first and then pulling him even closer. The world had narrowed to the two of them, to this time and this moment.

  He wasn’t sure which of them drew back first. Her eyes were dazed, her cheeks flushed. She seemed to make an effort to regain control.

  “I wasn’t quite expecting that.” Her voice caught on something that might have been a suppressed laugh. “Or maybe I should say I expected it but didn’t quite realize...” She let that die out.

  “I know.” He grinned, suddenly feeling as if he could leap tall buildings. “Me, either.”

  “Yes, well...” She drew back, then seemed to realize she’d lost her support and clutched his forearms. “Maybe you’d better give me back my crutches.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He managed to suppress the thought that crutches weren’t necessary for everything. He held her steady with one hand while
he collected the crutches with the other.

  Once they were safely detached from each other, Allison ran a hand through her tousled hair. “I ought to get downstairs before Sarah sends out a search party for me.”

  He nodded. “Come back later. You can see how the cabinets look with the handles in place. And don’t forget to check over those paint chips we left for you.”

  “I will.” She headed for the door, and he followed her, stopping when she did for a last look around the living room. “It really is going to be perfect,” she said. “I can see it.”

  “Picturing it filled with your own furniture? You could live here instead of renting it, you know.”

  He said the words lightly, giving voice to what he’d assumed all along—that Allison was fixing up the apartment for herself.

  And then he saw her expression. Saw the doubt in her face at the idea.

  It was like having a barrel of cold water dumped over him. What had he been thinking? That just because she was here for now she’d be staying?

  “I...I don’t know,” she murmured, and she went as quickly as the crutches would take her to the exit.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ALLISON WAS IN the back room at the quilt shop, her foot propped up on a padded stool, when Sarah popped her head in.

  “You have company. Don’t move,” she added as Allison began to rise. “She’ll come in.” She ushered Krysta Conner into the room and slipped away.

  Allison’s nerves tensed. After the way they’d parted the last time they’d talked, she wasn’t sure she wanted a visit from her young cousin. But Krysta carried a bouquet of daisies and carnations and wore a tentative smile.

  “Hi.” She gestured with the paper-wrapped flowers. “These are for you.” She put them on the table next to the mug of chamomile tea Sarah had insisted Allison needed. “I just stopped by to see how you are.”

  She stood awkwardly, swinging a small backpack from one hand, and Allison realized she must have come straight from school.

  Today Krysta looked much more her age, showing so clearly the uncertainty that Allison remembered only too well from her own teens. “I’m doing much better.” She gestured to a chair. “Please, sit down and talk to me. Sarah is busy, and I’m beginning to bore myself.”

  “Thanks.” Krysta visibly relaxed. She slung the bag on the back of the chair and sat. “I was on crutches one time when I sprained my ankle. It’s a pain. You can’t carry a thing, can you?”

  “Not unless I sling it around my neck. The doctor says I can graduate to a cane in a couple of days. Then I’ll just look like an old lady.”

  Krysta studied her face for a minute and then shook her head. “No way.”

  Allison couldn’t help but feel pleased, knowing that to a teenager, nearing thirty was probably aged. She pushed a plate of cookies toward her. “Have a snickerdoodle, at least.”

  “Thanks.” Krysta snagged one and munched on it with obvious pleasure. “Do they... Do the police know yet how it happened?” She nodded toward the crutches.

  Careful, she told herself. If Brenda was behind the things that had been happening, it wouldn’t be wise to confide in her daughter. In fact, Krysta might be here for that very reason. It was hardly a question Brenda would feel comfortable asking herself.

  “They’re still investigating, apparently. The trouble is that anyone could have done it. Anyone who was in Blackburn House that morning, that is.” Like you. And your mother. But somehow she didn’t think Krysta was a good enough actress to carry this visit off if she’d been the one to set the trap. She touched the petals of a white daisy lightly. “I’ll drop a note to your mother thanking her for the flowers.”

  Krysta looked startled, and then she grinned. “That would surprise her.”

  “What— Oh, you mean she doesn’t know about this.” Somehow she’d assumed that Brenda was behind this visit. “Well, thank you doubly, Krysta.”

  “My mother—” Krysta began and stopped. She looked down at the table and picked up a cookie crumb with her forefinger. “It’s embarrassing, that’s all. I mean, after all she got from Aunt Evelyn...” She let that die out.

  Allison considered. Teenagers were often embarrassed by their parents—it was part of growing up. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s natural enough that I came as a surprise to her. After all, she must have given up her own life when she moved here to look after Evelyn. Naturally she’d feel entitled—”

  “Is that what she told you?” Krysta pursed her lips. “She would. It was the other way around, if you want to know. My dad’s business was on the rocks, and when he passed away, all he left for us was debt.” Her face softened. “Poor Dad. He never was meant to be a businessman.”

  “I’m sorry.” She knew what it was to be disappointed by a parent and yet go on loving him, regardless.

  “Yeah, well, Aunt Evelyn came to the rescue. I don’t think she especially wanted to have us living with her, but she didn’t complain.”

  Allison could hear the hurt in Krysta’s voice. Embarrassment, as well, that they’d thrown themselves on the rich relative.

  “You know, Krysta, Evelyn didn’t have to leave you anything, but she did. She split things between us, so that proves she loved you, even if she didn’t say it.”

  Krysta seemed to weigh her words. “You should have gotten it all. You were her granddaughter.”

  “The granddaughter she’d never seen.” Allison grimaced. “It’s a pretty tangled family we’ve got, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s best to just accept the way things are and move on.”

  “T.J. says—” Krysta stopped.

  “Go on. What does T.J. say?”

  Krysta shrugged slim shoulders. “I know you don’t like him. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  “I don’t dislike him, Krysta.” Allison hesitated. It seemed to her that her young cousin needed someone to talk to, but she didn’t think she was suited for the role of counselor. “I just didn’t have a great first impression of him.” Her thoughts flashed to that scene in the sunroom.

  Krysta’s color deepened. “T.J. takes some knowing. He’s had a rough time, but he’s really a sweet guy underneath. Just sort of...impetuous, I guess you’d say.”

  Allison flashed onto an image of Krysta glancing toward the rear of the first floor, her face lighting up at whatever she saw. “T.J. was here in the building on Saturday morning, wasn’t he?”

  “I... What makes you think that?” She was stalling, obviously.

  “I saw you looking back down the hallway just before I started down the stairs. Your expression spoke for you.”

  Krysta hung her head and nodded, looking very young all of a sudden. “But he wouldn’t do anything to you. He’s not mean.”

  “Impulsive, maybe? Whoever set that trap did it on the spur of the moment.”

  “Not T.J.—he wouldn’t.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. “I mean, he tries to act tough, but it’s, like...just a cover. He doesn’t have anybody to hold on to.”

  “His father, his grandfather—” Allison began.

  “You don’t know.” Krysta’s head came up, and indignation flamed in her face. “T.J. was devoted to his mother. He never actually says this, but I think she was probably mentally ill. Or maybe bipolar or something.” She flung the terms around loosely. “People say all kinds of things. They say she drank, but T.J. says that’s not true. He says his dad never did anything to help her.”

  “It’s true I only know what I’ve heard, and that hasn’t been much,” she said carefully. “But it’s possible that T.J. didn’t know the whole story of his parents’ relationship.”

  “Kids always know,” Krysta said firmly. “Anyway, when she took an overdose, some people said it was suicide, but T.J. says it had to be an accident. He says if his dad had help
ed her instead of running around on her, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, conscious of how lame that sounded. “His grandfather—”

  “His grandfather doesn’t approve of him. He’s always telling him he’s got to act like a Blackburn, whatever that means. Anyway, T.J. doesn’t have anybody, but he trusts me, and I know he couldn’t do anything so mean as to hurt you.” She leaned across the table, her young face passionate. “You have to believe me.”

  Allison wasn’t sure she could go that far, but Krysta obviously believed in what she was saying. “He has a good friend in you.”

  “Yeah, well...he counts on me.” Her gaze evaded Allison’s. “It’s just...well...sometimes he wants more than...” She let the words die out. “He says if I loved him, I would.”

  So, boys were still using that line, were they? Allison felt a longing to have T.J. here so she could shake him until his teeth rattled.

  But that wouldn’t help Krysta. And Krysta wouldn’t be saying this to her if she didn’t want help, whether she recognized it or not. There was a certain wry irony in Krysta wanting advice from her, of all people, on her love life.

  “I haven’t always been smart about my relationships with guys,” she said slowly. “But one thing I do know is that someone who really loves you wouldn’t press you to do something you’re not ready for. Love isn’t...” She paused, trying to find the word. “Demanding.”

  Krysta nodded, but her gaze didn’t meet Allison’s.

  She was failing this kid, she suspected, and she didn’t know how to make it any better. “You’ll be heading off to college before too long, won’t you?”

  “In the fall.” Krysta’s face lit up, and her eyes sparkled. “University of Maryland. Mom wanted me closer, but I think that’s close enough.”

  Allison had to smile at that. “I know exactly how you feel. Well, the thing is that going away to college is a chance to start all over for most people. You don’t have to go on being the person you’ve been. And you don’t want to be carrying a lot of emotional baggage with you.”