Truth or Dare

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “I can’t feel anything, Zoe.” Tears welled up in Robyn’s eyes. She clutched Zoe’s hand very tightly. “This is a hospital. I should be sensing all kinds of things in these walls. But it’s all blank.”

  “You just went through brain surgery, for heaven’s sake. Give yourself a chance to heal.”

  Zoe had spent most of the night hoping that she was right and that Robyn would eventually regain her psychic senses. But the truth was, they were in uncharted territory.

  One thing was for certain; she had no plans to ask the neurosurgeon for his opinion about the effects of post-surgical trauma on psychic senses. Dr. Grange appeared to be a good man and an excellent surgeon, but not everyone had Ethan’s ability to balance on the fine edge that separated the highly improbable from the absolutely impossible.

  She and Ethan walked through the door to the room. The first thing Zoe noticed was that Robyn, her head swathed in bandages, was smiling as she lay ensconced on the white pillows. Got to hand it to a woman who could look that cheerful after brain surgery, she thought. Robyn definitely had what it took to be a professional apartment house manager.

  The second thing she saw was that Robyn was not alone. An elderly, gray-haired couple stood beside the bed. The man was leaning heavily on a wheeled walker. The woman teetered on a cane. Diamonds the size of automobile headlights glittered on her gnarled fingers.

  “Zoe, Ethan.” Robyn winced a little as she turned her head to greet them but her eyes were bright with pleasure. “Meet Mr. and Mrs. Shipley. They’re the owners of Casa de Oro.”

  “How nice to meet you, dear.” Mrs. Shipley bobbed her head graciously.

  “We were just telling Robyn that she’s not to worry about her position as the manager of the Casa de Oro,” Mr. Shipley said. “We’re going to hold it open for her.”

  “We had our driver take us to Whispering Springs yesterday so we could have a look at the property,” Mrs. Shipley confided. “Couldn’t believe the improvement. We had been on the verge of putting it on the market, you know. But not anymore.”

  “Robyn is far and away the best manager we’ve ever had at that complex,” Mr. Shipley said. “The last thing we want to do is lose her.”

  “I’m sure Hooper in one-B will be thrilled to hear that,” Ethan said.

  There was movement in the doorway. Zoe turned around and saw a bouquet of flowers that was so large it blocked the entrance. The man holding the vase peeked through the stems, looking uncertain of his welcome.

  “Speaking of Hooper,” Ethan muttered.

  “Uh, hi.” Hooper moved awkwardly into the small room and found space for the large vase on the windowsill.

  “Mr. Hooper.” Robyn’s smile was radiant. “You came all the way from Whispering Springs just to see me?”

  “I, uh, heard you had surgery. Didn’t know you were sick.” Hooper grimaced. “I went into the hospital for some major surgery a couple of years ago. I know how it feels.” He motioned toward the giant flower arrangement. “I, uh, thought you might like those.”

  “They’re beautiful. No one has ever brought me flowers. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  Hooper grinned, pleased with the reception of his gift. “Yeah, sure. You’re welcome.”

  Zoe cleared her throat. “How are you feeling today?” she asked.

  Robyn made a face but her relief was obvious. “Everything’s back to normal, just like you said.” She rolled her eyes at the nearest wall. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  Zoe chuckled. “I know what you mean.”

  44

  Singleton leaned on his counter and looked at Jeff and Theo. Both boys wore unusually serious expressions.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We think you should ask Mom out on a date,” Theo said.

  “Yeah.” Jeff’s face scrunched up with fierce concentration. “You could take her to a movie or something.”

  He thought about that for a long time. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah,” Theo chimed in. “You could take us with you, if you want. We could have pizza before the show.”

  “Don’t be so dumb,” Jeff said to him. “It won’t be a real date if we go with them.”

  “Why not?” Theo whined.

  “We go with them for pizza all the time and it’s not a date,” Jeff explained.

  “Oh.” Theo did not appear to be too depressed by that news. He shrugged it off. “We can have pizza with Uncle Ethan and Zoe, instead.”

  The shadows in the bookshop lifted. Warmth and light spilled into the small space, driving out the gloom.

  Singleton realized that he was grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care.

  “Works for me,” he said.

  Zoe stood in the center of the gracious, white-on-white master bedroom suite. She had to admit that the finished space was impressive and quite beautiful in its own way.

  “Congratulations, Lindsey, you’ve created a remarkable room. Very harmonious and tranquil.”

  Lindsey did not move out of the doorway. Her expression was cautious “But not your style, right?”

  Zoe turned toward her. “No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire a work of art when I see one.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Lindsey replied.

  “You’ve got a real talent,” Zoe said sincerely. “What’s more, I think you’re the right designer for Tabitha Pine. She’s into this kind of look. I’m not. I’ve decided that I won’t present a proposal to her, after all.”

  Lindsey shifted uneasily. “We both know that you could give her what she wants. You’re a pro. You don’t have to love the look to create it for someone else.”

  “In most instances, I’d say that was true. But Tabitha is different. She needs a finely tuned energy flow in her home, especially in that meditation room. You’re more sensitive to her requirements than I am.” Zoe shrugged. “Besides, I’ve suddenly got my hands full. A couple of the architects who came through on the tour yesterday want me to meet with some of their clients.”

  Lindsey nodded, relaxing a little. “I got a lot of positive feedback from some of the people on that tour yesterday myself.”

  “Looks like all this work we did here will prove to be worth our while.” She glanced at her watch and started toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get moving. I promised my husband I’d meet him for lunch.”

  “Zoe, wait.”

  She paused. “What is it?”

  Lindsey appeared to be having trouble deciding just what she wanted to say.

  “I think your library turned out brilliantly,” she finally muttered. “I was wrong about all those intense colors. They really work in that room.”

  Zoe could see that Lindsey was struggling. But she was trying to be nice. That counted for a lot.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot,” Lindsey continued slowly. “It’s just that this project and the Pine job were very important to me.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “In the past my interior design work was more or less a social hobby. I was fashionable because I was married to a man who wielded a lot of clout in LA.” Lindsey’s mouth twisted wryly. “People lined up around the block to kiss his ass.”

  “I understand.”

  “I enjoyed designing but I didn’t have to make a living at it. It was one of those things women in my world did. Some arranged important dinner parties. I did the homes of stars and entertainers.”

  “Lindsey—”

  “But after my divorce, I lost everything. All of my big-name clients deserted me. I was suddenly nobody because I was no longer married to the man whose ass had to be kissed. It was then that I finally realized that if I wanted something to call my own, I was going to have to create it myself.” Her mouth tightened. “I’ve been obsessed with proving that I could make a new life without my husband and his influence. I wasn’t sure I could do it, you see.”

  “How di
d you decide to settle here?”

  “I wanted to start over in a place that had no connections to my ex or his friends. I love the desert. So I more or less threw a dart at a map and here I am.”

  “Join the crowd.” Zoe smiled. “Just about everyone I know came to Whispering Springs to start over. It’s a good place to begin a new life. You’ll do fine.”

  45

  Walter Kirwan’s beautifully restored study was crammed with Whispering Springs dignitaries, members of the Historical Society and a sprinkling of Kirwan scholars and enthusiasts. The patio doors had been opened to allow access to the reporters, photographers and television cameras.

  Zoe stood with Bonnie, Arcadia, Harry and Singleton at the back of the room. Jeff had managed to wriggle his way through the throng to get a front-row position. Theo was perched on Singleton’s shoulders.

  Zoe could only catch glimpses of Ethan. He was at the other end of the long study, standing next to Mayor Santana in front of the massive stone fireplace.

  Dressed in a khaki green shirt and black trousers, he appeared amused by the small media frenzy going on around him. She blew him a kiss over the heads of the crowd. He winked.

  “If I may have your attention,” Paloma Santana said in authoritative tones.

  Everyone immediately hushed and turned toward her. Zoe noticed that Nelson Radnor and his wife had managed to squeeze into the room. She saw that Nelson had his arm around Daria’s shoulders. Daria looked very happy.

  “Welcome to the Walter Kirwan House,” Paloma said, speaking into a microphone. “Thanks to the efforts of a great many people in this community, it has been restored as nearly as possible to the way it looked when Kirwan lived and wrote here. Before we get to the mystery, I’m going to ask Professor Millard Cottington, a noted Kirwan scholar, to give you some background.”

  Professor Cottington, looking every inch the distinguished academic, took the microphone and rambled on for several extremely boring minutes about the importance of Kirwan’s contributions to literature. He finally got to the exciting stuff.

  “The exact cause of Kirwan’s death has been a matter of conjecture and gossip for years,” he intoned. “But it was the disappearance of his last manuscript that has proved the most frustrating aspect of the mystery for those of us who have devoted our careers to the study of his work. The possibility that it was stolen, rather than destroyed, on the night of Kirwan’s death has intrigued all of us. Many are watching today to see if Ethan Truax, a private investigator with no expertise in Kirwan’s work or in American literature in general, can solve a mystery that has baffled two generations of Kirwan scholars and collectors.”

  How dare he make Ethan sound like an uneducated gumshoe, Zoe fumed, hissing softly.

  “Down girl,” Arcadia murmured.

  At the front of the room Ethan took center stage, clearly unfazed by the professor’s condescending remarks.

  “There are really only three possibilities here,” he said easily. “The first is that the manuscript was stolen and disappeared into the private collectors’ market. I ruled that out after my associate, Singleton Cobb, an authority on antiquarian books, conducted an extensive investigation of the underground collectors’ market and found no trace of the missing manuscript.”

  He nodded at Singleton and everyone turned around to look at the biker dude with the kid on his shoulders at the back of the room. Singleton smiled and turned red. Theo grinned proudly.

  Professor Cottington’s face clouded in a troubled frown. Take that, you condescending, elitist twit, Zoe said to herself. Evidently Cottington had never considered that there might be an expert in rare books in Whispering Springs.

  “The second possibility,” Ethan said, “is that Kirwan burned the manuscript on the night of his death. His last words to his housekeeper could certainly be interpreted to mean he intended to do just that. Most scholars, including Professor Cottington here, have assumed that is the most probable answer.”

  Cottington nodded sagely.

  “The difficulty with that explanation,” Ethan said, “is that the housekeeper, Maria Torres, told her family on several occasions through the years that she saw no trace of what must have been several hundred sheets of typing paper in the ashes the next morning. In fact, she always claimed that there was no indication that any fire had been built that night.”

  Cottington’s white brows snapped together in obvious annoyance. He cleared his throat portentously.

  “I would like to remind everyone present that the housekeeper’s story was never verified and that there is some question about her veracity,” he said loudly.

  Paloma’s elegant profile went taut but she did not speak.

  “Maria Torres happens to be an excellent witness,” Ethan told the crowd. “She had a history of stable employment with Kirwan. He evidently trusted her, and those who knew her best maintained that she was an honest, hardworking woman whose word could be taken to the bank.”

  “She also knew that she was in Kirwan’s will,” Cottington sputtered. “She stood to inherit this very house.”

  “As we all know, the will was contested and she got nothing,” Ethan said. “But that’s beside the point. What matters here is that, even if your assumption was true, you’re left with the fact that her only interest would have been the house. She had no particular use for the manuscript. If she had taken it, she would have sold it.”

  Cottington glowered. “What is your conclusion, Truax?”

  “My conclusion is that the manuscript is still here.”

  There was an appropriately dramatic gasp from the crowd. Cottington’s jaw dropped visibly. Zoe heard Bonnie chuckle.

  Ethan produced two long-handled screwdrivers. “I could use a little help here. I’d like to ask the other private investigator in town, Nelson Radnor of Radnor Security Systems, for some professional assistance. Nelson? Would you mind? This will go faster with two of us.”

  Zoe glanced at Nelson and saw a startled expression cross his face. But he recovered quickly.

  “My pleasure.” He took his arm off Daria’s shoulder and made his way through the crowd. “What have you got in mind?”

  “After eliminating the other possibilities, it occurred to me that Kirwan really did feed his manuscript to the fireplace, but not to the flames, as everyone assumed.” Ethan handed one of the screwdrivers to Nelson. “You take the right side, I’ll take the left. Start tapping.”

  Nelson raised a brow as he took the screwdriver, but he merely nodded.

  Excitement erupted in the room as Ethan and Nelson began systematically tapping the stones. The cameras moved in closer. Journalists fired questions.

  “You think there’s a secret safe somewhere in that fireplace?” the reporter from the Whispering Springs Herald asked, holding out a microphone.

  “I think it’s the one explanation that fits all the facts in this case,” Ethan said.

  He rapped a series of stones. Each gave off the flat sound expected from a solid chunk of rock. On the opposite side of the hearth, Nelson went through the same exercise. He got the same response.

  Ethan moved up a row and struck a large gray stone directly to the right of the heavy wooden mantel.

  Unlike the others, it produced a distinctly hollow tone.

  The entire room fell silent.

  Nelson stopped tapping and looked at Ethan. “That sounded interesting.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Ethan moved his fingertips around the edge of the stone. “I’m betting there will be a spring mechanism somewhere. What do you think, Radnor?”

  “I’d say it’s a very, very good bet there’s a spring mechanism there somewhere,” Nelson said, smiling. His eyes glinted with amusement.

  Ethan probed a little more. Then he reached under the mantel.

  “Here we go,” he said softly.

  There was an audible click. The stone that had sounded hollow when it was tapped slowly swung open.

  “Uncle Ethan, look,” Jeff shout
ed from the front row. “There’s something inside.”

  The crowd broke into wild applause. Reporters hurled more questions. Professor Cottington stared, dumbfounded.

  Very carefully, Ethan reached into the hidden safe and removed a large leather box. He set it down on Kirwan’s desk and looked at Paloma.

  “Would you care to do the honors, Mayor?”

  Her smile illuminated her dark eyes. “I’d be delighted.”

  She unfastened the latch and raised the lid. For a couple of seconds she just looked into the box. Then, very carefully, she reached inside and removed what appeared to be a ream of paper.

  “Canyon Visions,” she read aloud.

  A murmur of wonder went through the room.

  “There are two manuscripts in here,” Santana announced. She took out another bundle of paper and glanced at the title. “Light of a Desert Dawn, by Walter Kirwan.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Cottington roared. “Let me see those manuscripts.”

  Paloma handed both bundles to him. “Of course, Professor. Be my guest.”

  Cottington examined the two manuscripts. “These will have to be authenticated. Tests will have to be run on the paper, the ink, the writing style.”

  “Certainly,” Paloma agreed.

  Gradually Cottington’s outrage and disbelief turned into reverent awe. “If these are real,” he whispered, “this is an absolutely extraordinary event in the history of American literature. Extraordinary.”

  The gang went out for pizza that night. Zoe had watched the evening news with Ethan a short time earlier and she was still fuming.

  “I can’t believe that the local station went with Professor Cottington’s quote about an extraordinary event as the lead-in,” she said. “They had no business giving him so much airtime. They should have used a quote from you, Ethan. Instead, all we got was about two seconds’ worth of you and Nelson Radnor tapping on the fireplace.”

  “Yeah,” Theo said around a mouthful of pizza. “They hardly showed Uncle Ethan at all.”