Deadly Deception

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dani ate little, but as the meal progressed became aware that Lanza was tense. He toyed with his food, spoke from time to time, but was obviously preoccupied—and displeased. The meal was almost over when the door opened and a woman entered. She wore a robe, and her fine blond hair had been carelessly brushed.

  “This is my wife, Rosemary, Miss Ross,” Frank quickly introduced her. He got up and pulled out the chair for her. “Miss Danielle Ross—the new teacher.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to meet you,” the woman greeted Dani, seeming to notice for the first time that a stranger was there. “The children have been looking forward to having you.”

  “I’m sure we’re going to get along,” Dani replied. From the slow, overdeliberate movements and the careful pronunciation of her words, it was evident Mrs. Lanza had been drinking. She was, Dani guessed, no more than thirty, and very attractive. She had the flawless complexion found only in the south, with beautiful, cobalt-blue eyes and incredible lashes. A fine figure, as well, but she had a vague air that turned to apprehension when she looked at her husband.

  Frank Lanza began to speak, as if anxious to keep his wife from doing so. “Let me say just a few things before I leave for town. Miss Ross will be obeyed at all times. I hope you all understand that. Pat, you mind Miss Ross just as you mind me or your mother. You understand that?”

  “Yes, I do.” Pat nodded cheerfully.

  “I hope so. Matthew and Rachel—the same goes for you. You may have thought that you’d have a vacation, now that you’re going to be educated at home, but it’s not going to be like that. You’re going to have to work hard. . . .”

  Dani wished he would stop, for she could see he was building a wall between her and the children—especially in Matthew, for she saw his stubborn, rebellious look. Lanza ended, “I’ve got to go now. You mind your teacher and work hard.” He got to his feet, looked down at his wife with a tense expression, but only commented, “I’ll try to be back for dinner, Rosemary.”

  “All right, Frank,” she answered without looking at him.

  As soon as he left the room, Abby gave Dani a wicked grin. “Well, teacher, what’s first on the list?”

  Dani gave her a sudden direct look. The girl was an unexpected factor. Dom Lanza had not mentioned her, and Dani was uncertain of the girl’s standing. She spoke firmly, “For you, Abby, nothing. I take it you’re out of school?”

  “They didn’t tell you about me, did they? Well, I’m the black sheep, Dani.” A thought tickled her, and she laughed, the bright red lips curving upward. “School? Well, I never finished high school. Expelled quite often— but never finished. I started at Tulane, but they have rules there—so I’m on some sort of probation. Grandfather told me I might learn something from you. You think you can teach me anything, Dani?”

  The girl was provoking her, but Dani merely shook her head. “I’ll be glad to have you help me, Abby—” Then she paused as her level gaze caught the girl’s eyes. “But if you don’t think you can do that, it would be better if you found something else to do.”

  Rebellion flared in Abby’s eyes. “Grandfather said I could stay.”

  “As I said, Abby, if you would like to be a help, I’ll be glad to have you. But your grandfather has put me in charge. I’ll have to decide—not him—about what’s best for all of you.”

  Abby flushed, rose up, and threw her napkin on the table. “I’ll just go have a talk with him, then!” she pronounced and left the room, despite Rosemary’s protest that her grandfather was asleep.

  “Well, let’s go to our classroom. We won’t do any work today, but you can show me what you’ve learned. Would you like to go with us, Mrs. Lanza?” Dani invited.

  Rosemary was startled. It was as though she was not accustomed to being consulted. A nervous smile touched her lips, and she replied, “Why—yes, I would. If I won’t be in the way . . . ?”

  “Of course not!” Dani got up.

  Patrick announced, “I’ll show you the work room. I’ve got my own desk, Ross.”

  “Miss Ross, Pat!” Rosemary corrected. “It is a nice room, Miss Ross,” she said. “Come along and we’ll show you.” She let the children get out of the room, then added, “Abby—she’s been having a difficult time. I wish she’d try to do better.”

  “I think we’ll get along, Mrs. Lanza,” Dani comforted her. She could smell the whiskey, which Rosemary had tried to cover up with breath mints. “You and I will have to work together,” she suggested. “I’ll do what I can for Abby—but Mr. Lanza is more concerned for your children. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  Rosemary Lanza didn’t answer. Dani glanced at her and saw a tear running down her satin cheek. Dani looked away and observed cheerily, “Well, now, we’ve got three children, but you and I can handle the job, I think.”

  A large room in the east wing had been hastily converted to a makeshift classroom. Dani noted that it was a cheerful place with four desks and several bookcases. Glancing around, she said, “This will be fine, won’t it now?”

  “We’ve all got new notebooks, Miss Ross,” Rachel mentioned shyly. She added quickly, “I—I don’t do math too well, but Matthew does.”

  “But she paints good!” Pat barged in. “Show her your pictures, Rachel!”

  Dani discovered that the girl did paint surprisingly well and took great pains to praise the work—causing a smile to appear on Rachel’s face. After an hour spent going over what they had done, Dani suggested, “It’s too late to start any serious work today—what if I read you a story?”

  “Yea!” Pat crowed, and both Matthew and Rachel looked relieved.

  “You all sit down, we’ll read as much as we can.” They all settled down on the easy chairs in the room—even Rosemary. Dani began, “This book is called, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was written by an Englishman named C. S. Lewis—and it’s one of my favorite books. . . .”

  5

  Happy Birthday, Eddy!

  * * *

  A pale ray of sunshine struck Abby’s eyes, and when she moved her head suddenly to avoid it, a pure sliver of pain ran through her head. It was like having a white-hot ice pick driven from temple to temple; pain so exquisite she cursed and lay as still as possible until the pain subsided. Carefully she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The memory of her conversation with her grandfather came back, and her lips drew together rebelliously. Moving slowly, she sat up in the rumpled bed, took a deep breath, then stood up. Her mouth was dry as dust, and she went to the bathroom for a drink. After drinking three glassfuls, she stared at herself in the mirror, noting the bleary eyes and drawn expression, then stripped off her nightgown and took a hot shower.

  As the hot water trickled down her body, she thought with disgust of the scene with her grandfather. She had stormed into his room, demanding that she be allowed to take advantage of the new teacher. Dominic had turned his dark eyes on her with an expression that had silenced her. “You will do nothing to interfere with Miss Ross, Abby. Is that clear?” She had never been on the receiving end of the old man’s stern anger, and the sting of it had driven her to drinking from a bottle she had stolen from the liquor cabinet.

  After drying off with a huge, fluffy towel, she moved to a chest of drawers and pulled a new exercise outfit from the top drawer. Slipping into it, she posed before the large mirror on the wall, critically examining herself. The lavender tank top had rose insets and green piping. Capri-length stretch tights completed the outfit, both parts made of expensive Lycra jersey. It was possible to exercise in such an outfit, but it had been custom-made, in the most provocative mode, especially for Abby. Only a woman who was proud of her body and wished to call attention to it would dare wear such a thing.

  Slipping into a pair of white Reeboks and a fleece jacket, she left her room and went downstairs. Voices from the large room in the east wing came to her, and she opened the door a crack, just enough to see the Ross woman and the three children in one corner at a large table. She clos
ed the door, still sullen over her failure to get her own way, then left the house by means of an outside door in the family room.

  A chilly wind touched her, and she fleetingly thought of going back inside. Instead, passing through the huge patio that lay directly behind the house, she took a wide concrete walk that passed between two walls of tall green shrubbery. Emerging into an open area, she glanced at the large geodesic dome that housed the swimming pool and turned to the right into the gymnasium, a white stucco building flanked on one end by a series of four tennis courts and on the other by a small driving range. In the other direction, just inside the eight-foot brick wall that held the house and other structures, lay a white stable with a shake roof.

  An asphalt running track, six feet wide, wound around the dome and the other structures. It measured one eighth of a mile, and Abby started off at a slow jog. After one lap she stepped up the pace and was pleased with the feel of the cool air and the cold brilliance of the sun. By the time she had made ten laps, she had worked up a sweat and felt good, the hangover gone. She stopped at twenty laps, turning off the track onto the walk that led to the door of the gym, breathing a little faster than usual. She was a sleek thing; her excesses had not yet taken their toll.

  The gym was small, no more than thirty by forty, but was packed with expensive equipment. Phil Lanza had been a health freak, sparing no expense on the place, but had rarely been able to draw the rest of the family into exercise. Abby used it most frequently, more from boredom than any other reason, while the kids sometimes came because it was fun to play on the equipment.

  Abby passed through the door then paused abruptly, for there was a man there—a new man she’d never seen before. The security on the property was so tight that any stranger was unusual—and this one particularly so. The visitor springing up and down easily on the trampoline was male, young, strong, and not ugly. Anyone meeting these criteria automatically became a target for Abby Lanza—and the last was not really important. She moved into the building quietly, coming to stand in the midst of some Nautilus equipment. From there she saw that the man was not one of the regular staff. He was in his mid-twenties, no more, and was exceptionally built. He wore a pair of worn denim shorts, a pair of white gym shoes, and a thin white T-shirt that revealed the swelling chest and the fine definition of muscles in his back. There was not an ounce of surplus flesh on him, Abby noted. The ribbed stomach swept up into a set of swelling chest muscles of the sort one sees only in champion swimmers or acrobats.

  And he was an athlete, not just a pumper of iron. As he let the round bed of the trampoline toss him upward, there was a perfect balance in his body. No swinging the arms to keep upright. No fighting gravity with the legs. Just a smooth, upward ascent—a pause at the apex—a sudden drop into the canvas—then like a coiled spring, a rise that somehow seemed to be easier than the flight of a bird.

  Suddenly Abby saw him go into a crouch, and getting extra momentum, shoot upward; but this time he arched his back, did a perfect swan, and turned gracefully for the return. It was a beautiful movement and, she realized from her own attempts on the trampoline, one that had taken thousands of hours to perfect. On the next ascent, he doubled his trim body into a ball, spun like a top through three revolutions, uncoiling barely in time to land on his feet, then sailed upward.

  For five minutes Abby watched as he went through a workout of turns and somersaults, never missing and always landing in exactly the right position. Finally, he came to a stop, did a handstand on the side of the trampoline, then flipped over in a smooth somersault to land on his feet. He picked up a towel from the floor, wiped his face, and turned toward the parallel bars, whistling a little. He had a pleased look on his face, and then he saw Abby, and at once his eyes grew alert.

  “Hello,” Abby greeted him and came to stand in front of him. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your workout.”

  In one smooth glance he took in the sexy outfit, the bold makeup, and the saucy manner. “That trampoline’s a good piece of equipment.”

  “You’ve used one before. I’m Abby Lanza.” She was aware of his glance and enjoyed it. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’m the new physical-education instructor—Ben Savage.”

  Abby had been expecting a forty-year-old ex-football player, and she smiled, her full lips curving upward at the corners. “Hey, that’s great! Put me on your list, will you, Ben? I’d love to get into shape.” She waited for him to run his eyes down her figure, then to respond in kind to her remark, but he merely nodded.

  “Sure. That’s what I’m here for, Miss Lanza.”

  “Call me Abby,” she invited, studying his face. He reminded her a little of a younger version of some movie star—one who always played tough-guy roles. Some quality about Savage excited Abby; she felt that he could be dangerous somehow.

  “Could you begin now? I’ve tried that trampoline, but it’s hard,” Abby complained. “Just a few pointers would get me started.”

  “Sure.” He tossed the towel on the floor and turned to the trampoline. “Hop up, and we’ll see how it goes.” He watched while she got into position, then with a simple move, leaped up and stood balanced on the outer rim. “Just start bouncing. Nothing fancy.”

  As the girl began bouncing up and down, Ben ran over the information he’d gotten on her from Dani: Abby Lanza, age seventeen. Only daughter of Edward and Irene—that’s Dominic’s youngest son. Abby started going wild when she was thirteen and hasn’t stopped yet. Thrown out of school so often the officials finally asked the family to take her out. Tried a semester at Tulane—same thing. No, worse, because she was in the dorm with no one to watch her at all. Finally expelled for academic reasons—which wasn’t the case. She was corrupting some of the students and headed for a crash. A real sexpot, Ben, so watch your step!

  “You’re doing fine, Miss Lanza,” Ben commented. “Good balance you’ve got there.” The girl was, he realized, dressed to tantalize, and she was a tempting sight in the revealing costume. She knew exactly how to use her body to attract men.

  Finally she came to a stop, turned her eyes on him, and challenged him, “Come on, Ben, show me something harder. How about a somersault?”

  “Just try a few sit-downs.” He nodded. “Then a lay-out. Go down flat on your back, let the power of the net do the work. Try to come up smoothly into a standing position.”

  She had done some of that and soon was ready for something more difficult. “You did three somersaults, Ben,” she pouted. “I can do one!”

  “There’s a few people stuck in wheelchairs for life because they missed a somersault on one of these things. If you catch this rim on the back of your neck, no more dancing for you. Look, just do some more falls. Next time we’ll do something harder.”

  “Oh, all right!” she allowed and began jumping again. But she drove herself as high as she could—so high that Ben said sharply, “Not so high!”

  Abby, by accident or by design, seemed to lose herself at the apex of a jump. She screamed and threw her arms wildly to the side. Savage saw her headed for the side of the circle and leaped to catch her as she came down. Her weight caught him off balance, but he managed to pull her to the center, both of them falling. They took a wild bound, turned once, and he came down on top of her.

  “You all right?” he asked quickly.

  Abby reached up and pulled him down. Her eyes were half closed and her grip on his head was firm. “Yes—I’m just fine, Ben!”

  Savage was awkwardly placed, lying half across her body, where he had fallen at right angles. He was pressing against the soft curves of her body, and her hands were locked behind his head. She smiled slightly, and there was nothing childish about the expression in her eyes at that moment.

  Despite the sudden impulse to take the kiss she offered, his next impulse was to get away. A warning came to him in the form of a question, What will she do if I brush her off? She was holding his head so firmly that he could not shove her off without being ob
vious. For the moment he simply froze, his face not six inches from Abby’s.

  “You’re not bashful, are you, Ben?” Abby murmured and increased the pressure on his neck.

  What might have happened, Savage never knew, but suddenly a sound came from the direction of the door. Abby heard it as well and turned her head to see the new nanny and all three of her charges standing not twelve feet away, staring at them. She released her grip on Ben’s neck, and at once he came to his feet. He offered her his hand, but she ignored it, descending to the floor and snatching up her jacket.

  “I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Dani stated innocently. “We came to get our exercise program from the new instructor.”

  Abby glared at her as angry words reached her lips, but there was no sign of mockery on the older woman’s face. “I was just leaving!” Abby snapped and turned to walk away.

  “Perhaps you can introduce us to our physical-education instructor before you leave, Abby?”

  Abby bit off the words, “This is Ben Savage.” Then she walked out of the gym with her back straight.

  Dani said, “Mr. Savage? I’m Miss Ross. And these are Patrick, Rachel, and Matthew. Children, would you like to welcome Mr. Savage?” Her voice was sweet, but a steely glint in her eye warned Ben that sooner or later he would hear more of the incident.

  He was not wrong, for later that day he met Dani in the room where she taught. Ben had sat down at one of the desks while she finished her final instructions to the children. He was looking down at a piece of paper with something written on it, and as she came to stand in front of him, he questioned, “Who wrote this? It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

  Dani ignored the paper, which contained an exceptional poem written by Rachel. There was an ominous rigidity in her back, and after carefully shutting the schoolroom doors, she clipped her words off sharply, “All right, Ben, what were you doing with that girl?”