Nightsong

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “Where did you get this, Phillip?” The words were so soft he could barely discern them, but he had no difficulty interpreting the tension that curled her hand into a fist.

  He hesitated, recognizing the potential for argument. “At the cabin.”

  She spun around and stood for several seconds with her back to him, her shoulder blades rising and falling with the strength of her agitation. When she spoke, her voice was low and controlled. “You stole it then.”

  His patience snapped. “Yes! Add theft to the list of my crimes against you, Elleny. Concentrate on the lies I told and on how I deceived you. Tell yourself over and over that you can’t trust me. But before I walk out that door, turn around and look at this drawing.” Angrily he began flipping through the pages. “See for yourself that the husband you trusted betrayed you. Not only you, but his father and who knows how many other people. Any wrong I may have committed was honest, as strange as that might seem to you.” He found the sketch, slapped the rest of the tablet flat against the table and brushed back his hair with restive fingers. “When I first came to Cedar Springs, I didn’t know what kind of person you were. For all I knew, you could have worked hand in hand with Mark to steal the van Warner. I couldn’t just assume your innocence, and I couldn’t rush in and begin demanding answers. The cover I invented was necessary to discover the truth. Give me the benefit of the doubt, Elleny. At least look at the evidence I found.” He swallowed some of his cloying pride and drew a deep, calming breath. “Please.”

  Elleny turned, seeking him with her eyes, clasping her hands to warn him that the distance separating them had not been bridged. “It doesn’t matter, Phillip. You could show me the stolen painting with a handwritten confession from Mark and it wouldn’t make any difference.” Immediately, she saw disbelief shadow his eyes with anger and wished there was a way to make him understand. “Nothing can change the past or the way I felt about Mark.”

  “Stop clinging to the memory of a man who didn’t deserve your trust. Or your love. Admit, once and for all, that you were wrong about him. That he wasn’t the shining example of a loving husband and father that you’ve painted in your mind. Stop pretending, Elleny.”

  “You stop, Phillip. What gives you the right to judge my relationship with Mark? How could you say you loved me and not understand why I have to defend him? Isn’t it bad enough that you took advantage of the trust I placed in you? Do you have to strip any vestige of happiness from my memories as well? Isn’t that what you want me to admit, Phillip? That I wasn’t really happy with Mark?”

  “I want you to face reality. I want you to see the fantasy world you lived in with Mark for the lie it really was. It’s a matter of principle, Elleny.”

  She squeezed her hands together so tightly they ached in protest, but the pain felt almost good. “I think it’s a matter of pride, Phillip. Your pride. Your unshakable belief that I should view life from your perspective, realistically and without illusions. Why can’t you accept my right to see things from a different point of view?” Her glance circled the room, searching in vain for something to convince him. “Two writers might take one incident and write two vastly different books. Two artists might view the same landscape, but their paintings of the scene would be different in so many ways – the depth of color, or the brushstroke, or even the size of canvas.”

  She stopped for breath, for any sign of encouragement in his expression, but he was looking past her, his gaze on something she couldn’t see. She sighed in defeat. “You should leave now.”

  He walked toward her, and her heart pounded with uncertainty. But he didn’t reach for her, didn’t even shorten his stride as he passed her. He hadn’t even glanced at her! She pivoted in a panicky spin of shocked surprise. Before she could open her mouth to ask even one of the questions whirling through her brain, he answered them all by placing his hands on either side of the framed watercolor that hung between the bookshelves. Carefully, Phillip lifted the painting from the wall and carried it to the counter.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice rose in a hollow echo of her scattered thoughts.

  “When did Mark give you this?” Phillip ran his fingers over the heavy wooden frame, his whole attention focused on the painting.

  “I don’t remember exactly. I had it for a long time before he….” She trailed into a realization of where the sentence was going and finished in a whisper. “…before he framed it for me.”

  Phillip’s glance was pointed and quickly returned to careful examination of the picture. He tapped on the wood at various points, listening like a burglar for the sound of tumblers in a lock. “I don’t know why I didn’t see this before,” he said, half to himself as he dug in his pocket for his key chain. “It’s so obvious to me now.” In a matter of minutes he had pried loose one side of the frame with a key and was working his way around the edge.

  Elleny watched in stunned silence as he gingerly removed the pieces of wood and lifted the canvas. Mark’s painting was left on the counter as Phillip held another canvas in his hands. It was larger than the other, but the frame had concealed the hidden painting’s size in a clever, unassuming way.

  Phillip studied the watercolor for long moments in which she could not breathe, wasn’t even sure she wanted to. The evidence of Mark’s crime, the proof Phillip had doggedly pursued, was now concrete. And Elleny felt a lingering denial ease into a grudging acceptance.

  It hurt – this confirmation of Mark’s deception and of Phillip’s truth – yet she had no sense of betrayal. The husband she had loved, the Mark she had known, had not stolen the painting and substituted a forgery in its place. It had been another person, someone she hadn’t known existed. She would have to face that, she realized. She would have to deal with the ramifications of Mark’s other life as they pertained to her future and to A.J.’s.

  But for now, she had to face Phillip.

  “What are you going to do with it?” she asked in a tight, choked voice.

  Dark eyes turned their focus to her in concern, but there was a flicker of triumph there, too, and she didn’t think she could forgive him that. “I have to return the painting to the owner, Elleny. There’s no choice, but I promise I’ll do what I can to protect you.”

  “It isn’t for me, Phillip, but for A.J. I don’t want him to be affected by any publicity or....” She couldn’t get another word past her lips. Her mouth was cottony dry and refused to plead anymore.

  Phillip took a step toward her, but she immediately moved back. He stopped and for a moment she saw pain in his eyes.

  “I’ll do everything I can, Elleny. If it’s within my power, the crime Mark committed will never again hurt A.J., Jesse or you.” He paused. “And I think you have to admit that Mark did commit this crime.”

  A heavy sensation of disaster churned in the pit of her stomach as he turned the challenge to her. “There isn’t a handwritten confession, but I believe this evidence would convince any jury beyond a reasonable doubt. Defend him now, if you can.”

  Her hands trembled. Her heartbeat was as loud as a drum roll. Phillip was waiting for an answer. His answer. For him it was a black-and-white question easily settled with a black-and-white answer. For her the answer was shaded by a thousand memories of a man whom she had loved and respected. Mark hadn’t been the person she’d thought he was. If he’d lived, she undoubtedly would have been disillusioned and would have had to face this moment in some other context. But Mark had died ... and she had mourned. She couldn’t resurrect the past and then condemn it to death. She couldn’t mourn again.

  From somewhere she found the courage to lift her chin and give her answer. “I can’t defend what he did, Phillip, but I will always defend my right to believe he was a person worth loving.”

  The words dropped into a vacuum, and she waited for him to speak. To finally understand.

  But he didn’t. He just stood for an eternity, holding the painting like a shield, as if he too were waiting for words that didn’t come. At last he tu
rned, made his way to the front door, and opened it. For a moment Elleny thought he really was going to leave without another word.

  But at the last possible second, with his hand on the doorknob and the rain creating a rhythmic accompaniment behind him, he looked to her again. “If you want to live your life behind a pair of rose-colored glasses, Elleny, then who am I to stop you? Thanks for….”

  With a sad, wistful sort of smile, he left the rest to her imagination and walked outside. With the van Warner canvas tucked protectively beneath the folds of his coat, he closed the door behind him and paused beneath the narrow awning before running to the car.

  Elleny stood at the window to watch him drive away through the steady downpour. And then there was only the empty street and the lonely splash of rain ... and her empty heart.

  Chapter Ten

  “May I come in?”

  Phillip looked up from his perusal of a lengthy claim form and regarded Sylvie with a narrowed gaze. She was slim and long-legged, with hair he classified as red but that she called nutmeg blond. She returned his regard with wide eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses. Funny, he couldn’t remember what color her eyes were. But he knew they weren’t brown.

  He snapped his thoughts back to Sylvie. As always she was dressed for success in what she termed ultrachic office attire. She was fond of saying she shopped with an eye for colors that would complement her office decor. Phillip, privately, thought she must be color-blind, but he had to admit he’d never once seen her in anything less than appropriate. Whatever the occasion, Sylvie rose to meet it.

  And he had a feeling that right now he was the occasion. “Since when have you bothered to ask permission to come into my office?”

  “Since our secretary tacked a sign to your door that reads ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here!’ ” Sylvie didn’t seem particularly worried, though, and proceeded not only to enter his domain but to slump into a chair and take off her shoes. “Do you realize, Phillip, that in one short month you have become the Mr. Hyde of Smith-Kessler and Dr. Jekyll Incorporated?”

  Restlessly, he tapped a pencil against the edge of his desk. He knew, of course, he’d been a little irritable of late, perhaps a bit too demanding, but it wasn’t as bad as all that. “Am I out of favor with the office staff?”

  “Oh, I think you can safely say that.” Lazily, she settled back in the chair. “Haven’t you noticed the terrified hush that descends whenever you enter a room?”

  “Terrified? That’s overstating things a bit, even for you, Syl.” Phillip glanced at his watch. Still morning. Somehow that annoyed him more than his associate’s obvious good humor. But ill will would get him nowhere with Sylvie, and so he managed a half smile. “I thought it was merely respectful silence.”

  Sylvie’s smile was dryly indulgent. “Well, everyone is entitled to their opinion, I suppose. But I do wish you’d work on your attitude, Phillip. You’re making us all crazy with your relentless pursuit of work and more work. If I didn’t know better, I might think you regretted throwing away the opportunity for some wonderful, attention-getting publicity in the art-forgery case.”

  Phillip focused on the pencil in his hand. “Is that still bothering you?”

  “More to the point, it’s still bothering Bernerd Thayer. I just had an interesting phone conversation with him, and he’s reconsidering the deal you made.”

  Phillip slapped the pencil to the desk. “I got back his prized painting for him. He’s not getting the details just so he can give them to the media and draw national attention to his art collection. The public statement about the recovery of the stolen van Warner will have to satisfy him.”

  Sylvie lifted her shoulder in a conciliating shrug. “All right, Phillip. It was your case, and if the insurance company was happy with the way you handled it, then why should anyone else complain?”

  “Precisely,” he said. But his voice lacked conviction.

  “After all, you did conduct a successful investigation and you have a perfect right to keep the details secret. There are no rules that say you have to take the credit for a job well done. And there’s certainly nothing in the investigator’s guidelines that says your Company can exploit the case to receive some well-deserved publicity. No, I agree with you, Phillip. You should not spend a minute rethinking your decision.”

  “Sylvie,” he interrupted, with a patience he didn’t feel. “I’m not going to tell you the whole story either.”

  “You can’t blame me for wanting to know. You’ve been about as congenial as a clam ever since you came back from Missouri.” With a grimace she retrieved her shoes and rose with the leather pumps dangling from her fingers. “The least you could have done was tell me why you didn’t bring her back with you. I can’t help but wonder, you know. It’s been pretty obvious all along that you were personally involved. You are personally involved, aren’t you?”

  Bland amusement sparkled in her smile.

  “You know that sign on my door?” he said smoothly. “Do you think if I added a skull and crossbones it would keep out those people who have nothing better to do than to carry on pointless conversations when I’m trying to work?”

  Her brows arched behind the frame of her glasses, but her perceptive smile never wavered. “No need to bother with a sign. A few minutes in here is probably the best deterrent you could hope to find.” She walked to the doorway and, with exasperating aplomb, winked as she closed the door behind her.

  Phillip sank back into his chair. Placing his hands at his temples, he rubbed the aggravating aches of tension. How long was he going to continue this charade? Sylvie might as well have asked the question aloud. He knew she’d been thinking it. And the idea that he was behaving like a first-class fool lingered in the room as if she had stated it loud and clear.

  Or maybe he was simply running out of excuses, and the truth was at last gaining ground.

  The truth was he loved Elleny and had been making himself, and everyone else, miserable by not facing up to it. It was time to take a good long look at his matter of principle and admit that Elleny had been right when she called it a matter of pride.

  From almost the first moment he’d been jealous of the happiness she’d known with another man. A man Phillip considered unworthy of having any claim to her love. And because he saw Mark Damon in such an unfavorable light, Phillip had wanted Elleny to deny that she ever had loved Mark in the first place.

  It had been egotistical of him, Phillip realized, and very selfish. Elleny had put no conditions on her love for him. Why had he insisted on a change in her philosophy before he would offer his love and commitment in return? As she had tried to tell him, there was more than one way to look at life.

  The thought that he had hurt her for no better reason than his own stubborn pride sent his fingers combing angrily through his hair. Well, he might be stubborn, but he wasn’t so proud he couldn’t admit his mistake.

  With a glance at his watch – still early – he cleared his desk, phoned the airport and walked purposefully to the doorway of Sylvie’s office. “I’m on my way to Missouri, Syl.”

  She looked up from the papers on her desk and adjusted the already perfect fit of her glasses. “Missouri?” she repeated in a voice that tried hard to sound surprised. “Following another hunch, Kessler?”

  “Just going back to get something I forgot.”

  “You don’t honestly expect me to fall for that, do you?” Sylvie shook her head in dire prediction. “And you probably shouldn’t expect her to fall for it either.”

  Phillip couldn’t stop his slow, inexplicable grin. “Wish me luck.”

  She did, with a fingertip salute off the tortoiseshell rims. “Don’t worry about the business, either,” she added unnecessarily. “I’ll cover for you. No problem at all. And save your thanks. I’m planning a suitable revenge.”

  Laughter, the first he’d known in a long time, rumbled deep in his throat as he quickly left the office and punched the elevator button. Then he waited, his pat
ience a thin veneer, his newfound hope a restless energy burning within him.

  * * * *

  It was late afternoon when he finally parked the rental car outside the bookstore. It wasn’t raining, and Phillip chose to regard that as a good omen. He could use a positive note in the wave of uncertainties that possessed him now. What if she wasn’t here? What if she was but wouldn’t listen?

  He got out of the car and stood looking at the bookstore windows for a few courage-gathering moments. But each passing second only made him more nervous, more unsure of his newly discovered wisdom. Yet oddly enough, the sense of homecoming and the knowledge that Elleny was near calmed him. She might be angry with him, but he could deal with that. In fact, he thought he could deal with almost anything if he could just see her again, talk to her, touch her.

  He walked to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

  “Hi, Phillip.” A.J. was perched on the counter, kicking the divider with one swinging foot while he buried his fist in a jar of jelly beans. “Where ‘ya been?”

  Phillip smiled at A.J.’s matter-of-fact approach and glanced around the room in search of Elleny. She wasn’t there, but he noticed Mark’s painting had a new frame and was again adorning the wall. Somehow that made him feel more confident. Elleny wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. So maybe she would be willing to forgive him a blind spot in an otherwise sincere heart.

  Turning toward A.J., Phillip moved to the counter and offered a handshake to Elleny’s son. “Hello, A.J. How have you been?”

  A.J. considered the outstretched hand for a second before reluctantly placing a single jelly bean in the palm, “I’ve been at school,” he said, eyeing the candy.

  Phillip hid a smile as he popped the jelly bean into his mouth and ruffled A.J.’s hair affectionately. “Thanks, buddy, I needed that.”