The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  In the rear parlor, he found an old-fashioned phone behind the stained glass lamp. Snatching it, he plunked himself down on the ottoman and dialed her hotel. Sensitive to the feelings of Tyler's teenage daughter Cheryl, Keelin wouldn't move in with the man she loved until after the wedding. No sooner had he snapped off the light in hopes the dark would relax him, the hotel clerk answered and put through his call.

  His cousin picked up on the first ring. “The hour is late," came her lovely lilt. “Speak your piece."

  "Hey, cous, it's me."

  "Ah, Skelly, I'm truly sorry if I was rude. Tyler was supposed to call earlier, and I thought I would vex him a bit for being so negligent of his bride-to-be."

  "Sorry to disappoint you."

  "No, not at all," she assured him cheerfully. “Um, you sound a bit odd."

  "Could be the phone or the connection," he fibbed. “I'm not at home."

  "The connection is grand, but I'm hearing something desperate in your voice..." She paused, obviously waiting for an affirmation, but when he gritted his teeth and held himself back, she quickly changed the subject. “So, where have you taken yourself to?"

  "Galena. That's in northwestern Illinois," he explained, figuring she wouldn't have a clue. “Guess who's investigating a murder?"

  For the next few minutes, he got her up to speed on the prospective story that brought Roz into his life and the two of them to Galena. He still hesitated unfolding the evening's main event.

  “I did catch part of The Blonde Temptress the other day," Keelin admitted. “So...this Lily Lang may not have been guilty. Interesting, but...don't you normally leave research up to your staff? Unless you have some personal interest in the story that's worth giving up your holiday weekend for," she mused.

  Laughing, Skelly insisted, “I really am here because of the story. If the outcome's good, it could cinch my promotion to a prime time spot with the network and take me out of the tabloid game."

  "I knew you had it in you." Then, in a sly tone, Keelin asked, “Now what about this Roz?"

  "Well...Roz isn't too hard on the eyes," he hedged. “She looks a lot like Grandma Lily did at the same age."

  "Ah-ha! So a romantic involvement is a possibility."

  Envisioning the kiss they'd shared, Skelly couldn't deny it. “How did you learn to read me so well in such a short time, cous?"

  "'Tis a gift."

  A little envious of her true gift, Skelly sighed. If only he, too, had inherited one of Moira's special abilities in addition to her heartfelt wishes. Though Keelin had insisted he'd acquired his storytelling talent from their grandmother, it wasn't quite the same as having a little paranormal help if he and Roz found themselves in another potential tight spot.

  But Keelin had it.

  He'd been skeptical about her self-professed ability to see through another's eyes in dreams until he'd personally witnessed her using the gift to rescue Cheryl Leighton from her kidnappers. He might as well tell her everything – he couldn't help himself. In a way, she'd brought up the subject. And he really did need someone other than Roz with whom he could talk freely.

  "Speaking of gifts...you wouldn't have had any weird dreams about me lately?"

  "About you? Skelly, now you have me worried. Tell me, for heaven's sake!"

  He took a big breath and rapidly said, “The brakes on Roz's car went out tonight and fate didn't do the dirty work. Someone punctured the brake fluid line."

  "Dear God, you could have been killed! Why would someone do such a thing?"

  "To interfere with our investigation. We'll keep on, of course. Cautiously. The up side is that I now know for sure I didn't come all this way on a fool's mission."

  "Merely a dangerous one. What did the local constable have to say?"

  "We didn't alert the authorities. We don't need interference."

  "But you could use the protection."

  "That's where you come in. If you have one of your dreams, you can do something, get help right away."

  He didn't want to acknowledge his darkest thought, that if the worst happened to him while Keelin was tuned in, she would be witness. Not that anything that dire would happen to him.

  "But, Skelly, you know my dreams don't foretell the future. They merely allow me to see through another's eyes at a time of crisis. If you find yourself in trouble, I will not know until it happens. What if I'm too late? What if whoever I call does not believe me? What if I don't see anything at all?"

  "Cous, whoa! I didn't mean to get you crazy. “Nor load her with guilt. She'd had enough of that. “I figured someone ought to know what's going on here."

  "You said you're staying with the young woman's family. What about them?"

  "Someone I trust," he amended.

  For in truth, after talking to Noah Lang, he had some serious doubts about the old man.

  "God in heaven, if anything happens to you...I shall never forgive you."

  Skelly grinned. “I know it'd be tough finding a new best man at the last minute."

  "'Tis not my marriage I'm thinking on, Skelly McKenna, but your well-being," she said irritably.

  "I love you, too."

  He spent the next few minutes getting Keelin to talk about plans for her wedding the following weekend. Everything on that end seemed to be running smoothly, courtesy of his sister. Aileen always had been able to charm her way through life's little curves.

  By the time he hung up, the tension in Keelin's voice had dissipated, though he knew he hadn't lessened her worry. Still, he couldn't help but feel better that she was aware of what was going on. She'd proven herself to be a woman a person could not only trust but could count on in a crisis. He only hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  With some of the burden off his shoulders, Skelly was about to head for his bedroom at last. What sounded like a soft shuffle of footsteps on the porch delayed him. Listening intently, he thought the sounds died at the front door.

  Had someone been watching the house, after all, and was now ready to break in?

  He silently rose and flattened himself against the wall even as the lock jiggled. His mind raced, searching for something he could use as a weapon if he needed one. The fireplace poker. Peering around the edge of the doorway, he could see through the front parlor to the entryway as the door opened and the foyer light snapped on.

  Allowing an amazed Skelly to watch Hilary Lang slip inside, carefully lock the door and tiptoe up the stairs.

  THE NEXT MORNING, ROSALIND felt like her old self, in complete control. Her summer pants' suit reflected her strictly business mood. Skelly appeared for breakfast dressed a bit more casually, a silk T-shirt beneath his lightweight sports jacket. They managed to avoid the topic of car brakes in front of her aunt. When Hilary inquired after the night before, Rosalind merely told her they hadn't yet succeeded in talking to Diane Nesmith. Skelly's look of relief both surprised and puzzled her.

  "I'll get the dishes so you kids can be on your way," Hilary offered. “Will you be home for lunch?"

  "I doubt it." Rosalind kissed her aunt's cheek. “I'm not certain about dinner, either."

  "Make sure you don't get so caught up in this investigation business that you don't eat. You know how you get on an empty stomach."

  Skelly's eyebrows arched. “And how is that?"

  "Let's get going." She pushed him into the dining room. Then when she heard the water running from the kitchen, she whispered, “We can walk down to Main Street."

  "Your foot –"

  "Is fine. If we ask to borrow a car, we'll have to explain ourselves, something I don't intend to do."

  A few minutes later, they were outside, making their way down the steep incline to the street below. With her being extra careful, going was slow.

  "It'll be easier when we get to the steps." She indicated the long, steep staircase that would take them close to the heart of town. “When we get to Main Street, I'll head for the widow's shop." Having awakened with the first streaks of dawn, she'd had plenty
of time to think things through and plan a course of action. “You see what you can find in the newspaper morgue."

  "Now wait a minute–"

  "Anything before the murder," she went on, her mind made up. “Lily was certain to have been featured on the society pages a few times while she was here. And maybe you'll be able to dig up something new on Sullivan, as well."

  "I appreciate your telling me how to do my job, but –“

  "You're welcome."

  " – I think we should stick together."

  "That won't be necessary."

  "After what almost happened last night?"

  Starting down the staircase that clung to the side of the hill, she considered both what had happened to her car and what had happened between them...and couldn't make up her mind which was the more dangerous for her.

  "Last night took me by surprise." Meaning both incidents. “Now I'm warned." Splitting up at least for a while would serve several purposes, including giving her some breathing room. “Besides, it is broad daylight and there'll be hundreds of people on the streets." Many of whom were already strolling in and out of open shops.

  "That doesn't mean something couldn't happen to you."

  His words sent a shiver of unease through her. “Please don't appoint yourself my guardian. I've been taking care of myself for quite a while now. I'm merely being logical, trying to make up for the time we lost last night."

  Relieved when he didn't continue arguing, Rosalind wondered if Skelly's giving in hadn't been too easy. But if he was up to something, she couldn't tell from his expression. Whatever might be rolling around in that devious mind of his, he wasn't giving her a clue.

  They took the last of the stairs and headed into the growing crowd of tourists.

  "The Clarion office is about a block and a half north," she said, pointing past the red, white and blue bunting that cut across the street.

  "Aren't you going to march me to the door?"

  When Skelly aimed one of his wicked smiles at her, he rendered her speechless for a moment. That she'd convinced herself to straighten up her act and keep things between them strictly business didn't seem to matter. She cursed the hormones that didn't give a fig about being sensible.

  "I trust you'll find the newspaper office on your own." Her tone was purposely clipped. “And I'll find you after I talk to Diane Nesmith."

  Skelly gave her a mock salute and left. Rosalind set

  off in the opposite direction, glancing over her shoulder when she was halfway down the block. She caught sight of him weaving through the crowd, still headed in the right direction. Good. Breathing more easily now that she was on her own, she zeroed in on the antique store, whose address she'd gotten from a local directory that morning.

  An admiring glance at the display of old jewelry and accessories in the window and she gazed beyond the plate glass. At the far end of the store, a lone woman was busy working at a handsome buffet. An old-fashioned lace-trimmed dress covering her too-thin body, light brown hair fluffed out and sprayed so that a tornado couldn't muss it, she appeared sixtyish, the right age for Frank Sullivan's widow.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her suddenly jangling nerves, Rosalind entered Yesterday's Treasures.

  DIANE NESMITH WAS REARRANGING a display of cut crystal to make room for a newly arrived pitcher and matching stemmed glasses when the tinkle of the bell at the door alerted her. A glance to the front of the store disclosed a woman's indistinct form, the blur caused by the thick prescription lenses she needed for close-up work.

  "Perry, we have a customer."

  Her husband was in the storeroom, unpacking a crate of items from the 1890s that he'd recently bought at an estate sale. He didn't answer. As usual when involved with something that fascinated him, he was tuned out to everything else, even her. Not wanting to interrupt her own task lest she forget her plan for rearranging the pieces – her short-term memory was already failing her – she called out again.

  "Perry!"

  But her raised voice was for naught. He still didn't answer. And, as she had hundreds of times before, she reminded herself that a woman could do worse than be married to a man who disappeared into his own world once in a while.

  A pleasant if husky female voice directly behind her said, “Excuse me, but I'm looking for Diane Nesmith."

  Affixing a smile to her lips, gingerly cradling a stemmed water glass in one hand, Diane turned. “You found her. How can I help..."

  The polite greeting died on her lips and her fingers went slack. Crystal shattered around her feet. For a moment, Diane hoped something was wrong with her glasses, for her eyes seemed to be playing tricks on her. She blinked and refocused, but the image, while a bit distorted, remained the same.

  Long silver-blonde hair...perfect figure...mole dotting the corner of her mouth...

  The room started spinning. Diane swayed and clutched at a highboy for support.

  "Are you all right?" the Lily Lang look-alike asked, grasping onto her arm.

  Her face practically in that of the other woman, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words would form.

  "Here, you'd better sit down. “The young woman gently guided her to a nearby upholstered chair.

  Once seated, Diane tried to regain her breath. She was still a bit light-headed and her ears were buzzing. Worse, blood was pumping far too rapidly through her body. She had to calm down. She had to.

  "I could get you some water."

  "Please. In the back..."

  But just then, Perry wandered into the shop, proclaiming, “What an incredible find! You won't believe it, my dear." As he focused first on the customer, then on her, his eyes went round. “Diane?"

  "Dizzy," she forced out.

  "Your pills! I'll get them." He flew back the way he'd come.

  The blonde's forehead was furrowed. “I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Rosalind Van Straaten."

  "I can see who you are...that woman's kin."

  "Lily's granddaughter."

  Now that the initial shock was wearing off, Diane drew her scattered thoughts together. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

  "To talk."

  Obviously about the murder. She'd assumed the past was dead and buried with Frank. That displeasing memories began crowding her mind angered her. Why couldn't she forget the past instead of the things that were important to her in the present?

  "We have nothing to talk about, Miss Van Straaten. Your family has done enough."

  "I have reason to believe my grandmother didn't kill your husband."

  Rosalind had picked up a silver hairbrush and was running her fingers over the design on the back. Fingers that shook slightly. Realizing that Lily's granddaughter was nervous put Diane more at ease. Undoubtedly she merely needed to hear the story first-hand. Not that Diane would ever admit the trouble had started because she hadn't been able to conceive Frank's child. Heartbroken, she'd turned her husband away from her bed when she could no longer tolerate trying.

  What she said was” I have good reason to believe Lily did kill Frank. I knew he was cheating on me for years – I even suspected with her – but I tolerated it because he was discreet." Frank hadn't gone without his comforts for long, she remembered bitterly. Less than a year. Whenever the urge took him, he'd slipped away for the night. “Those last several months, though, he saw Lily openly. Didn't care who knew about it."

  "He was unfaithful for years?" Rosalind set down the brush and folded her arms over her chest. “And you stayed with him all that time?"

  "He wouldn't agree to any kind of separation. His political career. Voters wouldn't have it. Getting a divorce wasn't so easy in those days, especially if both parties didn't agree. Nothing like it is now."

  And she'd asked first for an annulment, then a divorce after realizing Frank was only going through the motions of caring about her in public for the voters' sakes. They'd had nothing tender left between them. A woman needed tenderness from a man. Even a barren woman. She'd be
gged him to let her go. His continuous refusals had made her turn to Perry. She'd assumed Frank's male pride would come before all – that, once he figured things out, he'd change his mind.

  Only he hadn't.

  "You think your husband's unwillingness to divorce is the reason my grandmother killed him?"

  The sickening memories threatened to choke her, but Diane wouldn't let on. Because of Frank, she'd learned to hide her true feelings to the world. She'd become expert at it.

  "Lily was making a clean break from your grandfather at last. Everyone knew it. I guess she finally made up her mind which man she wanted. My husband. But when Frank didn't agree to leave me for her..."

  "That's all your assumption, though, isn't it?" Rosalind asked, sounding aghast.

  "What's going on here? Can't you see my wife is ill?" Perry boomed as he rushed back into the shop and to her side. “Here, my dear, take your medication." He handed her a pill and water, which he watched her take. Then he glared at Rosalind. “My wife has high blood pressure that's very difficult to control. Are you trying to kill her?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Then I suggest you get out of here. Now."

  Rosalind nodded and backed away. “I'll go. I didn't mean for you to be so upset, Mrs. Nesmith. I really am sorry."

  That's what Lily had said to her all those years ago, Diane remembered, watching the granddaughter leave. Frank had committed the ultimate betrayal by telling that harlot about the disaster of their private lives. And then Lily'd had the presumption to speak to her about her inability to conceive.

  To feign sympathy.

  "Are you feeling any better now, my dear?"

  "Yes, thanks to you, as always."

  She stared up at Perry, his craggy features stark with worry under that salt and pepper toupee he'd taken to wearing. Silly man. Always trying to look younger – for her, he said – when she was already content with him. But that was Perry. He'd always done what he thought essential for her happiness ever since the day she'd turned to him.