Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge

by Amanda Stevens

  Suddenly, it all came rushing back. She remembered seeing a man who looked exactly like Simon in Mexico. And then Tonio Vargas had been murdered, and she’d been questioned by the police. She might even be in jail at that moment if not for Alex. He’d come to her rescue and then he’d sent her home.

  Only, she hadn’t gone home. She’d caught the next flight to Dallas. She’d gone to see Simon, and had even pricked his finger with a pin to make sure that he was still in a coma.

  Later, she’d driven back to Fairhaven, slipped inside and…

  She bolted upright. Something had happened to Simon.

  She remembered now, and she had to—

  What? Rescue him?

  She wouldn’t know where to start, and besides, the way her head felt, she wasn’t certain she could even drag herself out of bed.

  Gingerly, she massaged her temples, trying to clear her head and make the pain go away.

  She’d experienced the same strange disorientation yesterday morning when she’d awakened in her bedroom at Alex’s villa. And then the police had come to question her about Tonio’s murder.

  Panic welled inside Penelope. She couldn’t remember what had happened to her on the night of Tonio’s murder, and now she couldn’t remember anything about last night, either. What if someone else turned up dead?

  A knock sounded on her front door and Penelope jumped. Her heart started to pound as terror shot up her backbone. Who was at her front door? The police?

  Don’t answer it, that same little voice warned her.

  If she just ignored the knock, maybe whoever was out there would go away.

  The knock came again, followed by her doorbell. It rang three times in quick succession. Obviously, her visitor wasn’t going to give up until Penelope answered the door.

  Throwing off the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a moment until her head stopped swimming. Then getting up, she put out her hands for balance as she staggered into the living room.

  Glancing down, she saw that she was dressed in her favorite pajamas, the blue ones with the sheep and clouds and the matching camisole. She didn’t remember putting them on.

  Standing on tiptoes, she peered out the peephole. A woman stood outside her door, but her head was turned so that Penelope couldn’t see her face.

  “Who is it?” she called through the door.

  The woman spun at the sound of Penelope’s voice. “It’s Helen. Pen, are you all right?”

  Helen? What on earth was she doing there so early? Penelope wondered. Her sister normally didn’t get up until noon. Then again, judging by the brightness of the sun, it could very well be after lunch for all Penelope knew.

  She opened the door and Helen gave her a quick once-over. “Are you okay?” She breezed past Penelope into the apartment. “We’ve all been worried sick about you. Where have you been?”

  “Mexico,” Penelope said with a shrug as she closed the front door. “But you knew that.”

  “Of course I knew you went to Mexico,” Helen said in exasperation. “I helped you pack, remember? But when Alex called yesterday morning to say he’d put you on a plane back to Houston…and then when you didn’t show up…when we didn’t hear from you…” Her eyes turned accusatory. “Where on earth have you been?”

  Penelope scratched her arm. “I went to Dallas to see Simon.”

  “To see Simon?” Helen asked incredulously. “Just like that? Without telling anyone?”

  “I didn’t know that I had to account for every minute of my time,” Penelope grumbled. “I wasn’t expected back from Mexico until today so I didn’t think I’d be missed.”

  Helen gave her a reproachful look. “Of course you were missed. Mother is fit to be tied. Thankfully, Alex was able to calm her down—”

  “Alex?” Penelope’s head jerked up. “He’s back, too?”

  “No, he phoned from Manzanillo.”

  “What exactly did he tell you?” Penelope asked carefully.

  Helen shrugged. “Not much. He said there’d been some kind of hitch in your plans, a misunderstanding or something, and you’d decided to come back early.” Helen lifted an elegant brow. “Care to elaborate?”

  When Penelope didn’t answer, Helen gave her another long scrutiny. “Never mind. You can tell me all about it later. If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like hell.”

  You should see me from the inside, Penelope thought.

  Helen took her arm and gave her a little push toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you go jump in the shower while I make a pot of coffee? You can tell me all about your trip when you get out.”

  Penelope balked. “Wait a minute. Do you actually know how to make coffee?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Helen gave her another little push. “Of course I know how to make coffee. I haven’t always had servants at my beck and call, you know.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  Helen’s smile turned wry. “Okay, I have. But I still know how to make coffee. I’m very good at it, as a matter of fact. So go jump in the shower, and when you’re finished, I’ll amaze you with my talents.”

  Penelope didn’t feel like arguing so she did as she was instructed. Plus, she found her sister’s presence a comfort. Which was strange because Helen wasn’t exactly the Rock of Gibraltar. Not someone Penelope would normally think to lean on or confide in, but she suddenly had the urge to do both. Her oldest sister was flighty, shallow, and self-absorbed. The perennial beauty queen. And if the coffee she made was even fit to drink, Penelope would, indeed, be amazed.

  Still, for some reason, she was glad that Helen had come over, and though Penelope frequently found herself irritated by her family’s meddling, she had to admit that she was touched by their concern. And she was suddenly very glad to be home.

  In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face while she waited for the shower to heat.

  Testing the water, she started to strip, then realized she’d left her robe in the bedroom. As she opened the bathroom door to step outside, she caught a glimpse of Helen in her bedroom. She had the closet door open and was busily rummaging through Penelope’s things.

  She must be looking for her dresses, Penelope thought and started to call out where she’d put them. But just then Helen turned, dragged a chair over to the closet and began to search through the boxes on the top shelf.

  What on earth was she doing? Penelope wondered in alarm. Evidently not finding what she was looking for, Helen stepped off the chair and carefully placed it back where she’d gotten it. Closing the closet door, she turned.

  Quickly, Penelope stepped back before her sister could see her, but she still had a view of her bedroom through the crack in the door. As she watched, Helen walked over and knelt to peer under the bed. Then she stood, glanced around one last time and left the room.

  Penelope stepped out of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hall. Helen was on her cell phone, pacing back and forth in front of the living-room windows.

  “I’m telling you, it’s not here,” she said in a low, urgent voice. “I’ve looked everywhere. Are you sure she didn’t leave it somewhere in Dallas?” As Helen paused to listen, she gnawed on her perfectly manicured thumbnail, a testament to her state of agitation. Penelope had never, ever seen her sister do that before.

  “All right, I’ll do what I can on this end,” she finally said. “But if I ask too many questions, she’s bound to get suspicious.”

  More confused than she’d ever been in her life, Penelope backed down the hall and padded to the bathroom.

  SHE QUICKLY SHOWERED and dressed, and then hurried out to confront her sister. She would simply demand to know what Helen was up to.

  But her sister was nowhere to be found.

  A note propped against the still-dripping coffeemaker read: Sorry, had to run. Call you later. Love, H.

  As Penelope read the note a second time, her hands began to tremble, and a thousand questions bombarded her.

&nb
sp; What had her sister been looking for in her bedroom? Who had she been talking to on the phone?

  Why had Alex Salizar shown up in so timely a manner in Manzanillo? How had he known that Penelope was in trouble?

  Who had killed poor Tonio Vargas, and why?

  Why did Penelope keep having those terrible blackouts? The memory lapses?

  And more important, why did she have a terrible feeling that everything was somehow connected to Simon?

  WHEN SHE WHEELED into the parking lot at the museum a little while later, she was shocked to see two squad cars pulled to the curb in front of the building. Normally, Penelope parked around back and used the rear entrance, but today she’d wanted to see the progress of the renovations while she’d been away.

  She sat for a moment, staring at the two blue cruisers as panic welled inside her. What were the police doing at the Morehart? Had they been notified by the Manzanillo authorities? Were they here to take her into custody and then extradite her back to Mexico to face murder charges?

  Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. What should she do? Call a lawyer? Her father? Make a run for it?

  Calm down. She drew a deep, cleansing breath and then released it. Just go in and find out what they want.

  But when she climbed out of the car, she was surprised to discover how unsteady her legs were. Strapping her leather purse over her shoulder, she crossed the parking lot—shaded by the gorgeous water oaks that were prominent in the area—and headed up the stone steps of the museum.

  Under other circumstances, she would have stopped to admire the building’s Gothic facade. The gray stone structure, adorned with winged gargoyles, reminded her of the architecture she’d seen on a trip to Berlin when she’d been in high school. Paris had captivated most of her friends’ imaginations, but the German capital had fascinated Penelope with its dark history and gloomy underground cafés.

  She was also reminded that she was to have been married at the Morehart. She’d imagined herself dozens of times on Simon’s arm, hurrying down the stone steps as well-wishers showered them with rose petals. Instead, Penelope had nervously paced her office that day, fluctuating between worry and rage, as the minutes ticked away. Finally, her father had sent everyone home, and Penelope had gone back to her apartment alone to drown her sorrows in champagne. Later that same night, the call had come from the hospital.

  Hard to believe her aborted wedding ceremony had been just two short months ago, because in some ways, if felt like years had gone by. Penelope hated to admit it even to herself, but there were times when she felt as if she hardly knew Simon anymore. It was as if the love affair had happened to two other people and she had only been a distant observer.

  Sighing, she entered the museum, but rather than detour to the wing under construction as she’d planned, she headed up to her office. Most days, she took the stairs for exercise; today she rode the elevator because her legs were still shaking.

  Jane looked up in surprise when Penelope got off the elevator.

  “What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you back until late this afternoon.”

  “I took an earlier flight.” Penelope glanced warily around the office. “Jane, why are there police cars out front?”

  The older woman got up and rushed over to Penelope. “Something terrible has happened.”

  Penelope’s heart dropped at the stricken look on Jane’s face. She almost never lost her cool. “Oh, my God, what is it? What’s happened?”

  “It’s…Tim.”

  “Tim Sizemore? The security guard?”

  Jane nodded. She took off her glasses and let them swing from the gold chain she wore around her neck. For the first time, Penelope noticed that the woman’s eyes were red from crying. That wasn’t like Jane. She was usually the epitome of composure.

  “Jane, what happened to Tim?”

  She bit her lip to keep from crying again. “Avery found him this morning. He came in early for a meeting with the general contractor, and he stumbled across Tim’s body in the hallway right outside your office.”

  Penelope gasped. “His body? Oh, my God—”

  Jane’s grasp tightened on her arm. “No, no. He’s alive. But he’s still unconscious. They don’t…they think he’s going to be okay, but they can’t say for sure, of course.”

  She was visibly trembling, and Penelope put an arm around her shoulders. She’d never seen Jane so distraught. “Just take it easy, okay? Does anyone know how it happened?”

  Jane shook her head. “Evidently there was a break-in. The police think that Tim caught them in the act, and they knocked him out and left him for dead.” She glanced down the hall toward Penelope’s office. “Avery’s talking to the detective right now. Maybe you’d better join them.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  Jane sniffed. “Yes, I’ll be fine. It’s just such a shock.” She wrung her hands in agitation. “I’ve been through this before, you know.”

  Penelope knew that Jane’s husband had died in a tragic accident years ago, but she couldn’t remember the details and Jane rarely talked about it. Obviously, the poor woman had never gotten over the trauma.

  “I didn’t realize that you and Tim were so close,” Penelope murmured.

  “He doesn’t have any family to speak of, either, and we both get lonely from time to time….” Jane looked away, as if not wanting to reveal the depth of her emotions.

  Penelope squeezed her hand. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s tough, you know? He’ll get through this.”

  “Yes, I keep telling myself that.” Pulling herself together, she said, “You’d better go talk to Avery.”

  As Penelope started down the hallway, she could see that there were people inside her office—at least one uniformed officer, a man in plain clothes whom she assumed was the detective Jane had mentioned, and Avery.

  He turned when he heard her approach and motioned for her to join them.

  “Jane told you what happened?”

  Penelope nodded. “It’s terrible. Poor Tim…I can’t believe someone would do that.”

  “I know,” Avery said grimly.

  Penelope placed her hand on his arm. “Avery, what about the exhibits? Was anything taken?”

  “The exhibits are fine,” he said. “That’s the first thing I checked once the ambulance had left. The damage seems to have been contained to the third floor. To your office, as a matter of fact.”

  “My office?” Penelope asked incredulously. Her office had been broken into?

  The man in street clothes came around the desk and introduced himself. “Detective Wayne Nevins, HPD.”

  “Detective, this is Penelope Moon.” Avery shifted back on his crutches to make room for her. “She’s assistant curator here at the Morehart.”

  The detective gave her a brief nod. “This is your office, I’m told.”

  “Yes. Do you have any idea how the intruders got past the security system?”

  He lifted a brow at her question. “Why do you think there was more than one?”

  “I…don’t know,” Penelope stammered, caught off guard. “I just assumed.”

  “My guess is, it was a one-man job,” the detective informed her. “It’s possible he came into the museum sometime yesterday with one of the tours. At some point, he could have left the group, come up here and unlocked a window to use later. Either that or he had an inside accomplice.”

  An inside accomplice? Penelope’s gaze shot to Avery. She couldn’t help remembering what Tonio Vargas had told her when they met on Tuesday.

  “Do you have any idea what the suspect could have been looking for?” the detective queried.

  Penelope’s mind switched to her sister earlier that morning frantically searching her bedroom.

  She swallowed and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. The artifacts and exhibits are kept on the first two floors.”

  “Mr. Bennett here tells us that you authenticate and catalog most of the artifacts as they
come into the museum. Do you ever bring any of that stuff up here to your office?”

  “No, never. I keep all my equipment in a workroom on the second floor.”

  “What about personal items? Jewelry, money, anything like that?”

  Penelope shook her head. “There’s nothing in here except books, research materials, my computer. I have no idea what the intruder could have been looking for,” she said in all honesty.

  The detective shrugged. “Not a lot to go on then, is there?” To Avery, he said, “We’re almost finished in here. We’ve lifted some prints so we’ll need to fingerprint everyone who has access to this room for comparison.”

  “Whatever you need, Detective. Just let us know.” Avery put his hand on Penelope’s arm. “In the meantime, we’ll be in my office down the hall.”

  He nodded toward the door, and both he and Penelope walked out. Once they were inside his office, he set his crutches aside and sat down behind his desk with a heavy sigh. “What a ghastly morning. Not a great way to welcome you home, is it? What are you doing back so early, by the way?”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about.” Penelope bit her lip. “Avery, something terrible happened while I was in Mexico. I just hope to God it doesn’t have anything to do with the break-in.”

  His expression turned grim. “I know about Tonio Vargas’s murder. Manuel’s assistant called me yesterday. She and I have become fairly close during all the negotiations, and she wanted to assure me that she’d received all the paperwork and everything is in order.”

  She’d received all the paperwork? How was that possible? Tonio had left the envelope of documents at the restaurant. Penelope had meant to deliver them herself the following day, but she hadn’t had time. Elena must have found them when she packed Penelope’s things and sent them over to her cousin. Penelope started to tell Avery exactly that, but thought better of it. As long as Vargas had received the papers, why make herself sound any more incompetent than she’d been?

  “She assured me that in spite of the tragedy, the exhibit will go on as scheduled,” he added.

  Did that mean that Tonio hadn’t been able to talk to his father before he’d been murdered? Penelope wondered.