Nightsong

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Phillip caught his hand before it could grip her shoulder in an enlightening shake, and he caught the impulse to tell her everything. It was a crazy thought, an irresponsible idea at best. He definitely was losing his perspective on this case. Elleny had just saved him the necessity of lying to her again, and his first impulse had been to tell the truth anyway.

  “Do you want to talk about my divorce?” Now why in hell had he asked such a stupid question? Mentioned the most distasteful conversational topic he could imagine? But at the quick toss of dusky hair, at the flicker of surprise in tawny eyes, he knew. He had wanted to shock her, to shake the impression she had of him, to make her see that marriage wasn’t always picture-perfect.

  “I don’t know,” she answered tentatively. “Do you?”

  Her concern was sincere, her hesitation was for any discomfort he might be feeling, not her own. A curious curl of warmth invaded the pit of his stomach and diffused into an unfamiliar longing. His gaze fell helplessly to her lips and lingered....

  He pulled himself together, reclaimed control of his focus, and cleared his throat. “I was married once. And divorced eighteen months later.”

  “Were you sorry?”

  “For getting married? Yes. For the divorce? It’s hard to feel any regret about that.”

  Elleny’s mouth formed a dubious line that in turn formed an enchanting expression. “What made you so cynical, Phillip?”

  “I’m just realistic, Elleny. What made you so trusting?”

  “I was one of those fortunate youngsters who had a puppy. Pets have a great influence on personality development, you know.” Her soft brown eyes met his darker ones, and her brows lifted in innocent teasing. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

  Her smile curved in a leisurely dare, and his smile came from God knew where to answer the challenge. But there it was, tugging at the edges of his mouth, soothing the tension only to have it build again. “Your son comes by his creativity naturally, doesn’t he? But I notice he doesn’t have a puppy.”

  She made an elfin grimace. “I’m trying to talk myself into that, but for now ...” In a smooth pivot she turned and leaned her back against the rail before settling a warning glance on him. “And if you so much as mention the word, puppy, to A.J., I’ll evict you in a second.” She punctuated the words with a snappy click of her fingers and then ruined the effect with a lilting laugh. “But you wouldn’t stir up that kind of trouble for me, would you, Phillip?”

  It took a few seconds and the firm reminder that it wasn’t a true lie before he managed to voice a denial. And even then, his throat tightened in protest. Elleny seemed oblivious to his discomfort though as she tipped her chin to the cool twilight that dusted her hair with darkness and shaded her profile in a cameo silhouette.

  “What happened to your marriage, Phillip?” Her voice was as soft as the shadows and somehow provocatively sensual. He wanted to touch her, to press his lips to the hollow of her throat, but he curved his hands – tightly – around the wooden rail.

  “It was a mistake from the beginning. We both knew it, I think, but still....” He couldn’t believe he was telling Elleny something he seldom even remembered, much less talked about. And yet he knew it was the lesser of evils. If he wanted to maintain the status quo, he needed to keep talking. “When Dad died, my mother insisted she could continue to run the grocery store on her own. She couldn’t, of course, but there was no way to convince her. I caved in to pressure and decided to be the responsible son she seemed to want. I was twenty-five and I’d been roaming around Europe since graduation. She put up a strong argument for settling down, taking my place in the family business, et cetera, et cetera.

  “So I became the owner and manager of the grocery, and I was determined to become a respectable member of the community as well. Within a year I was married and had a house in the suburbs. An eminently suitable wife and a beautifully furnished house. I had everything I needed to complete the portrait of a successful, settled man.”

  His brows lifted in a reminiscent, rueful frown. “I’m not sure when I realized that I was trying to be someone I could never be and making everyone miserable into the bargain, but by the time another year had passed, I was on my own again.”

  “And is that the way you like to be, Phillip? On your own?”

  Against his better judgment, he turned to look at her. “My life works best that way, yes.”

  She didn’t believe him. She didn’t say so, but he knew it just the same. Her doubts were evident in the steady way she returned his look, even in the way she held her hands. And it seemed suddenly important to convince her.

  “I don’t like to feel obligated to anyone.” He straightened as if it would lend stature to his philosophy, “It’s one thing to depend completely on my own ability to solve problems and something else again to have someone else depending on me to solve theirs.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “I guess I’ve never associated words like obligation, dependence, or even independence with a relationship.”

  “What words do you associate with relationships?”

  She considered his question, and he felt the tension in his chest increase, felt himself being drawn toward her.

  “Love. Trust. A give and take type of sharing. Compromise. Commitment.” Elleny paused and allowed a smile to touch her lips. “But then, I don’t think of myself as a loner.”

  “And I do.” He meant it to be a solid statement, but in the stillness it sounded uncertain.

  Her smile returned, more definite now, understanding and yet arguing gently with his assertion. Unbidden, his hands covered hers, warming the chill from her fingers and sending a ripple of protective pleasure through him. Even in the gathering dusk he saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes and watched it change to a soft wonder. Her lips were tinted with moisture and parted – just barely – in unconscious invitation.

  He never should have asked her to join him on the landing. Never should have allowed the conversation to turn intimate.

  Never should have touched her.

  But he had.

  And he was going to kiss her. In a moment. When the anticipation became too intense to withstand. When the steady throbbing of his heart quickened to a painful ache of longing.

  Phillip tried to reason away the desire, tried to warn his misguided intentions. But it was too late. It had been too late from the first moment her eyes had smiled into his. Slowly he lifted his hands to her face. Her cheeks felt cold and porcelain smooth to the touch, yet he trembled at the warmth that flooded his body.

  Elleny.

  Her name was a melody carried on the breeze, and he could wait no longer.

  He bent his head. Her lashes drifted down in expectation, and then his lips were on hers, his pulse pounding like the surf on a moonswept night. She was soft and tasted of mint. Or was it the fresh herbal scent of her that tangled his sense of taste and smell? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He simply enjoyed.

  It was the gentlest of kisses, only because Phillip was afraid to test his control. She was vulnerable to the moment. And he was beginning to believe he might be vulnerable to her. And this was not the time to find out. As her arms slipped around him, pulling him closer, he didn’t seem to have any choice but to let the kiss deepen. And to let reason get lost in the enchantment.

  He had thought of her as fragile, but her response was anything but. There was a promise of passion in the pressure of her mouth against his, a trace of desire in the caress of her hands at his shoulders. Yet there was also an innocence of spirit that was as much a part of their embrace as it was a part of everything about her.

  Their lips met, parted, came together again and clung. As if there would be no final chord in their song.

  It had to end, of course. He knew that the time limit for a casual kiss had long since come and gone. He knew if he continued to taste the sweetness of her lips that he would have to touch her in other more intimate ways as well. And then....

 
The decision was taken from him in a slow, easy pressure of her palms against his upper arms. Elleny eased his fantasy to a lingering close, and reluctantly he forced his hands to his sides. But he couldn’t force his gaze from hers. It was dark now and getting colder by the minute, but Phillip thought he could stay just as he was indefinitely ... and still be warm.

  “A.J. is calling me.” Her voice was a regretful whisper.

  “I don’t hear anything.” His voice was husky, his logic nonexistent.

  “Good night, Phillip. It was a lovely way to spend an evening,” She stepped past him, and for just an instant her fingers brushed his with new awareness. “A lovely way to end an evening.”

  Elleny wished she could linger for another hour—or two, but she kept moving. Down the stairs, across the yard, away from temptation, and toward the house. A.J. was waiting for her there. She could see him at the kitchen door, his thatch of blond hair frosted silver by the inside light.

  She felt Phillip’s gaze on her, and she wanted to turn, retrace her footsteps, relive the magic of a kiss that had been unexpected, but so much more than she’d imagined. But she couldn’t go back to him. She had other commitments at the moment. And even if she didn’t, Elleny wasn’t sure she would follow her impulse. There was no reason to rush the stirring possibilities; it had been only a kiss. There might never be another. Or there might be several. Either way, she was glad Phillip had come to Cedar Springs in his search for inspiration.

  “Mom, do I have to take a bath?” A.J. asked in preparation for the usual nighttime battle.

  It was a serious question that demanded her immediate attention, and with a soft sigh she went inside and closed the door behind her.

  Phillip stared at the rectangle of light visible through the curtains at the kitchen door. There was no getting around it, he thought. He had just walked head on into a serious complication. And if he were fool enough to kiss her again....

  His tongue glided over his lips, and he tasted the warmth of her mouth. The wind circled him, and he smelled the lingering fragrance of a delicate scent. His hand touched the wooden railing, and he remembered the silky feel of her skin. He was a fool to think he wouldn’t kiss her again – at the first opportunity.

  The wisest course of action was to run like hell. But he couldn’t. For reasons that were becoming more incomprehensible by the moment, he had to find that painting. It wasn’t just the money or the satisfaction of following a hunch to its logical conclusion. It was turning into a matter of principle. A principle that had something to do with words like love, sharing, commitment.

  And betrayal.

  And that that had everything to do with his own peace of mind.

  Chapter Five

  “Of course, I know what month it is, Sylvie.” Phillip gripped his cell phone in taut irritation and used his free hand to turn up the collar of his coat. “I also know the day, the year, and the correct time. But I’m standing outside, and it’s too damn cold to argue facts with you.”

  “Cold? In March?” Sylvie clicked her tongue in sad commiseration. “And all these months I thought you were enjoying springtime in Missouri.”

  “I’ve been away from the office barely six weeks,” he stated flatly. “That hardly qualifies as all these months. I don’t know why you’re complaining about my absence. If I were in the office, you’d be asking if I didn’t have somewhere to go.”

  “I haven’t said I wanted you back underfoot. I mentioned – innocently, mind you – that as a partner in this business you should check in once a week or even once every two weeks. Just to make sure I haven’t had you declared legally dead, liquidated the corporation of Smith-Kessler, and absconded with the company treasurer to the lower Decadent Islands.”

  Phillip grinned despite his ill humor. “There isn’t a company treasurer.”

  “There wasn’t one when you left ... all those months ago.”

  He shifted the phone from one hand to the other and let his icy fingers burrow into the warm lining of his coat pocket. “Sylvie, it’s blasted cold, and my disposition is not sunny at the moment, so why don’t we—”

  “—just admit that you’re wasting our time? You won’t hear a whimper of disagreement from me about that.” Her tone became suddenly serious. “Phillip, if the painting was there, you would have found it by now. No one expects you to do the impossible.”

  He frowned as a car in need of a muffler roared down the street. The air was thick with gassy fumes, and frustration was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Sylvie, I’m not leaving. The van Warner is here. It’s just a matter of figuring out where Mark hid it. I’ve scoured every square foot of the studio. And I mean that literally. I’ve examined each scrap of paper I’ve come across on the outside chance it might lead to some tangible evidence. There’s nothing of any interest stored in the garage, and I haven’t seen enough of the house to ferret out all the possible hiding places. But I will.”

  “Have I ever told you how pigheaded you are?”

  “Many times.” With a halfhearted smile Phillip absently watched the corner traffic signal turn from amber to red. “Almost as many times as you’ve had to eat crow for saying it.”

  “We’re straying from the point of this conversation, Phillip,” Sylvie said in her best let’s-not-go-into-that voice. “Which is – what is it you’re doing there?”

  “Freezing, Sylvie, and exercising my frustration level.”

  “You should get someone to keep your feet warm at night. I bet that would take care of both problems.” The pause was brief, but effective. “By the way, how is Elleny?”

  In that split second Phillip wished he had strangled Sylvie years before. “Elleny?” he asked in a puzzled tone that was pure invention. “She’s fine as far as I know. Why?”

  Sylvie’s laughter was quick and sure. “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you never could put one over on me, Phillip.”

  Which was true. Sylvie possessed an unhealthy insight into other people’s personal lives, most notably his. And she wasn’t wrong this time either. If there had been little progress in locating the van Warner, there had been undeniable progress in his relationship with Elleny. And he would have denied it if he could. Wearily, he rubbed the ache in the back of his neck.

  “You know, Sylvie, I’m positive that Mark Damon fooled a lot of people in this town, but so far I haven’t found a single person who’ll admit it. Everyone is cooperative, but only up to a point. Either they honestly don’t know much about the real Mark Damon, or they know enough to realize that talking is only going to stir up past troubles.” Phillip rubbed a thumb along his jaw. “It’s amazing to me that the town as a whole speaks so highly of him. The guy must have been a hell of a charmer.”

  The hesitation at the other end of the phone was almost palpable. “You’re not the D.A., Phillip. All you need is the painting. Guilt or innocence has nothing to do with this investigation.”

  “Sylvie,” he began, only to find that the words he wanted to say eluded him. Mark’s guilt and Elleny’s innocence had everything to do with this case. But that was something his business associate would never understand – even if he could find the words to explain.

  “Have you told Elleny yet?” Sylvie asked.

  “What? That I’m not an artist? Or that I’m here to prove her late husband was not the wonderful human being she believes he was?” A heavy sigh escaped Phillip in a cloudy breath. “No, I haven’t told her.”

  The silence from Boston contained a multitude of reservations, but to her credit Sylvie didn’t voice a single caution. Phillip inhaled deeply, and the air felt cold in his lungs as he waited a few seconds before continuing. “I want to have an opportunity to look through Jesse’s studio before I confront Elleny.”

  “Do you really think the painting will be there?”

  “I don’t know. In all the hours I’ve spent in the house with Elleny and her son, I haven’t seen even a glimpse of Jesse Da
mon. And I certainly haven’t gotten close enough to look inside his studio. But I’ve been told that he keeps many of Mark’s paintings there.”

  “I think you’re grasping at straws, Phillip. In six weeks’ time you’ve found little tangible evidence to support your hunch – a couple of paintings you believe are forged, a couple more that you suspect Mark stole from his father and passed off as his own work. You might be able to prove the connection between Mark Damon’s claim to fame and his father’s very real talent, but that isn’t the van Warner, and it isn’t money in the bank. How long do you intend to stay there hoping the canvas will suddenly drop into your lap?”

  “As long as it takes,” he answered firmly, but he knew Sylvie was right. Absolutely. He had reasoned out the same conclusions himself, but he couldn’t quit. It was too important. Because of Elleny. “Look, Syl, I’m going to get out of this wind. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

  “I won’t hold my breath.”

  Phillip tried to smile. “I meant to tell you that I received the information you sent about the art dealer. I already knew the facts he gave about Mark and Jesse Damon’s careers, so it wasn’t all that enlightening, but it was a little embarrassing when the postmistress asked me if I often received small, plain,brown-paper-wrapped packages in the mail.”

  Sylvie’s chuckle rippled across the phone lines. “That was a nice touch, don’t you think?”

  “One of these days, Ms. Smith, I’ll return the favor.”

  “Words are cheap, Kessler. Just find that painting and ... don’t get involved, okay?”

  “You know I won’t. Good-bye, Sylvie. And thanks.”

  “Good-bye, Phillip. I’ll send you a postcard from the islands.”