Читать книгу The Sound of Secrets - Irene Brand - Страница 12

Drew Lancaster’s cruiser was parked near the gazebo, but he wasn’t in sight when the twins approached Blanchard Manor from the woods. As they rounded the corner of the house, they saw the detective strolling along the driveway leading from the house to Bay View Road. He stared intently at the ground. Portia pulled Rissa into a secluded nook where they could watch Drew without being seen. He wore a dark brown leather jacket over his neat tan trousers. Tall and muscular, Drew carried himself with a commanding stance of self-confidence.

He had a camera slung over his shoulder and, as they watched, he stopped suddenly, lifted the camera and snapped several photos of that spot. He checked the screen of his digital camera, and, ostensibly satisfied, he moved on, with his eyes still watching the ground before him. Portia turned worried eyes on her twin when he stooped and picked up an item.

“I didn’t check out the driveway this morning. What do you suppose he’s found?” she whispered.

Rissa shook her head.

The sound of a car coming up the hill reached their ears and soon their father’s Jaguar came into view. He was driving at his usual breakneck speed. He honked the horn angrily when he saw Drew. He swerved quickly and Drew jumped several feet to avoid being accidentally run down.

The twins exchanged troubled glances and reached the garage just as Ronald wheeled his Jaguar into his parking place and stepped out of the car, his eyes blazing with fury.

Although he was just a few years shy of turning sixty, Ronald was still as handsome and vigorous as he had been in his youth. Jerking a thumb toward Drew, he demanded, “What’s he doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Father,” Rissa muttered sarcastically, but if Ronald heard, he ignored her.

“He said someone called about the commotion in the gazebo last night,” Portia said.

His dark face irate, he lifted his arm as if he might strike her. Rissa choked back a terrified cry. Although Ronald had never displayed any love or tenderness toward any of his six daughters, she’d never known him to lay a hand on any of them.

“Did you call that boyfriend of yours?”

“No, I didn’t,” Portia gasped and stepped closer to Rissa.

“What did happen in the gazebo, Father?” Rissa asked, attempting to deflect his displeasure from Portia.

Ronald’s eyes glowered down at his twin daughters, but he lowered his hand.

“None of your business,” he said, before he brushed by them and entered the house.

He was detained when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder. Rissa couldn’t imagine that Drew could have so quickly covered the distance from where her father had almost run him down to the front of the house. Ronald turned furious eyes on Drew, but he couldn’t break the ironclad hold on his shoulder.

Drew’s eyes were blazing with fury. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it held an undertone of cold contempt. “You’re driving a little reckless this morning, aren’t you?”

“It’s my own property. I can drive as fast as I want to.”

“Yes, you can, but you probably won’t like it if I charge you with wanton endangerment.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I could have that badge of yours in a hurry if you make such a charge.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Blanchard. You might not know it, but you don’t have the influence in this community that you once had.” He removed his hand. “I’m warning you—don’t try to interfere with our investigation.”

Without any apology to Portia and Rissa, Drew walked purposefully to his car and drove away. What could he say to them? Their father was probably a murderer, or at best, he had a lot of explaining to do.

Turning frightened eyes to her twin, Portia said, “Would he have hit me?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Rissa said, putting an arm around Portia, unable to reassure her sister when her own suspicions were rampant. “Let’s go inside.”

Through the rearview mirror, Drew saw Rissa and Portia follow their father into the house. Small footprints going from the gazebo and back again proved that whoever the woman in the gazebo had been, she had not been killed. He had followed steps from the gazebo to the spot where the woman had left her car. He’d snapped pictures of the tire tracks, but the rain last night had all but obliterated them. And it looked as if Ronald had swerved to drive across the tracks when he’d come home. Fortunately, Drew had already taken a picture of them. But what could he do with the clues he had found? He glanced at the key chain he’d picked up. There was no key on the chain attached to a porpoise in flight—a relatively common item found in gift shops. Could this key chain provide any new leads in the string of incidents that had involved the Blanchards for the past few months?

His partner, Mick, was in a quandary—trying to work on cases in Stoneley without causing trouble for Portia or her family. And now that he’d seen Rissa Blanchard again, Drew was in the same fix. Throughout the weeks since he had met her, he’d tried to convince himself that Rissa wasn’t as fascinating as he’d thought at their first meeting. Now he wasn’t so sure.

But he and Mick were cops first. Whatever their feelings toward the Blanchard twins, they were committed to upholding the law. He only hoped that they could do their job without bringing disaster upon Rissa and her sisters.

Drew rounded a curve and pulled to one side of the road. He locked the car and walked along a trail that took him toward the bluffs behind Blanchard Manor. From this point he had a bird’s-eye view of the house and the crystal-blue waters of the Atlantic. Rissa’s heritage! He cringed when he considered how ridiculous it was for him to think about pursuing a relationship with her. She would probably laugh in his face if he asked her out.

And who could blame her? Rissa had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. He, on the other hand, not only came from a poor family, but a dysfunctional one, as well. He lived from month to month on his salary, trying to help his mother support his two younger sisters. Financially he had nothing to offer any woman, and physically? To look at his strong body, no one would ever suspect the secret that prevented him from seriously dating any woman, let alone someone as special as Rissa.

The house was quiet when the twins returned and Rissa figured everyone was trying to rest after the commotion of the previous night. Portia went into the library to find Web sites for wedding consultants in Portland. Rissa went upstairs to the room she and Portia had always shared. Her memory was hazy about her life before they had moved to this house, which happened soon after their mother had died—or disappeared, as her father had recently revealed. She did have a hazy recollection of her mother rocking her to sleep a few times. Rissa was deeply immersed in her memories when Portia entered the room.

“I can’t believe that our mother is still alive,” Rissa said. “Let’s go over again what Father said about it. I was so shocked that I don’t remember everything he said.”

“He had faked our mother’s death so we wouldn’t have to know that she was suffering from postpartum depression. The best I can understand, she’s been in a mental institution all of these years—when we thought she was dead—but she disappeared from there about eight months ago. No one seems to know where she is now.”

“Could she have been the woman in the gazebo last night?”

“Surely he wouldn’t tell our mother that he would kill her if she ever came to the house again!” Portia’s brown eyes, so like Rissa’s own, were full of pain.

“At this point, I’m willing to believe almost anything about our father.” Rissa took off the boots she’d worn for their hike and stretched out on the canopied twin bed.

Almost immediately a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Rissa invited.

Peg Henderson, Howard’s private nurse, peered around the half-opened door.

“Welcome home, Rissa,” she said, her sky-blue eyes brimming with friendliness. Peg had become a fixture in the Blanchard household since Ronald had hired her to take care of his father, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s.

Sitting up, Rissa said, “Seems like I’ve spent more time here the past few months than I’ve been in the city. I’m going to wear my welcome out.”

“I doubt that,” Peg said with a bright smile.

“How’s Grandfather?”

“He’s having a good afternoon. He saw you out on the lawn and asked to see you, so this might be a good time to visit. His lucid periods don’t come often or last very long.”

Rissa hadn’t been able to talk to her grandfather at all the last time she’d visited Stoneley, so she quickly slid off the bed and tucked her feet into her metallic leather slippers. “I’ll come right now.”

She chatted with Peg as they climbed the steps to her grandfather’s rooms on the third floor, wondering how the nurse could remain so serene and sweet-natured when she had to deal with Howard’s mood swings on a twenty-four-hour basis. Except for a few times when she temporarily left Howard in the care of Sonya Garcia, the longtime Blanchard housekeeper, Peg seemed content to stay with her patient. She did have a luxurious combination living-and-bedroom suite adjacent to Howard’s, because the Blanchard family did all they could to make her life pleasant.

When they reached her grandfather’s sitting room, Rissa summoned her nerve to go inside. In her most depressed moments, she had often wondered if she would someday be like her grandfather.

But Howard greeted her with a smile that was reminiscent of how she remembered him as a child. She rushed to his side and knelt beside him. If it hadn’t been for him and Aunt Winnie, Rissa would have grown up without any affection. There was never any doubt that Howard loved his granddaughters and that they were welcome in his home. If Winnie hadn’t intervened with gentle discipline, Howard would have spoiled all of them.

“I love you, Grandfather,” Rissa said hurriedly, for she wanted to take advantage of this lucid moment to let him know how much she appreciated what he had done for her. His trembling hand ruffled her long, curly black hair and moved slowly to her cheek.

“How’s my big-city girl?”

“Busy, as usual,” she answered. “The show is more popular than I’d ever hoped for. Tickets are sold out several months in advance, and I’m working on a new play.”

“You’ve got the Blanchard drive, girl. You’ll go a long way.”

“But I feel very weak sometimes. I could sure use your help making decisions.”

Peg cleared her throat, and when Rissa looked up, she shook her head. Perhaps Peg had sensed something she hadn’t, because suddenly Howard’s expression changed. Her grandfather was gone, and in his place was a senile old man whose eyes darted around the room. He stood up, and Peg was at his side immediately, encouraging him to sit down.

He clenched his teeth in anger and tried to push Peg aside, but she tenderly overpowered him and settled him in the chair again.

“Where’s Ethel?” he shouted. He turned his tormented eyes toward Rissa. “Have you seen my wife?” he cried piteously.

Her heart breaking over the torment he must be feeling, Rissa said softly, “No, Grandfather, I haven’t seen her today.”

“I want her,” he cried. “Where’s Ethel?”

His eyes, once so full of life and warmth, were devoid of any kind of expression.

In a soft voice, Peg said, “I think you’d better go now.”

But Rissa wasn’t ready to leave. She took her grandfather’s cold, trembling hand and looked around the room, wondering what she could do to encourage him. On a nearby table she was surprised to see the Bible Howard had once carried to church. On the same table was a tray holding a large number of prescription bottles. Rissa remembered that her psychiatrist had told her that the Word of God could be a good supplement to her medication. Maybe it would work with her grandfather.

“I’d like to read to him from the Bible—maybe that will help calm him.”

“It would be better if you’d leave now,” the nurse insisted.

The nurse had the final authority on Howard’s care, but Rissa begged, “Please, Peg, let me read a few verses to him.”

Reluctantly Peg agreed. “All right, but sometimes he becomes quite violent after he’s come to himself for a few minutes. I want to spare you that, but perhaps having you read to him will calm him.”

Howard had had the reputation of being a cutthroat businessman and had been feared by many in the local community. Although he’d doted on his granddaughters, he’d been a hard man in dealing with others. But Aunt Winnie had told the sisters that Howard had once been an active member of the church and had never missed Sunday worship.

His heart had seemed hardened against God as long as Rissa could remember, and she was concerned about her grandfather’s eternal security. Considering his age and physical condition, he could die anytime. It worried Rissa that her beloved grandfather might go into Eternity unprepared to meet God.

She picked up the Bible, hardly knowing what to read, but she turned to the Psalms—a place where she often found comfort. But she must not choose anything to distress her grandfather. She glanced at Psalm Twenty-seven and decided that would be acceptable.

Rissa sensed Peg’s displeasure and she prayed silently that what she was doing would penetrate that wall of spiritual indifference Howard had erected between himself and God. She had memorized favorite passages in this psalm as a part of her therapy, so she didn’t have to keep her eyes on the printed page all of the time. Her grandfather didn’t take his eyes off her face as she read, but his eyes were expressionless.

“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?…One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His temple. For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion: in the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide me; He shall set me upon a rock.’”

Rissa had no idea whether her words had penetrated the solid wall that blocked Howard’s mind. She laid the Bible back on the table then leaned forward to kiss her grandfather’s cheek. He lifted his hand and his feeble fingers caressed her cheek.

“Ethel,” he murmured, and Rissa lifted startled eyes toward Peg, baffled by the amazement in the caregiver’s eyes.

“Does he often mention my grandmother?” Rissa whispered as she moved away from Howard’s chair.

“Once in a while he does.” The nurse laid her hand on Rissa’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “It was good of you to read to your grandfather.”

“Thank you for giving him such good care. Let me know when he feels like having me visit again.”

“Yes, I will, but it doesn’t happen very often.”

Before she went to her own room, Rissa stopped before the large portrait of Ethel Blanchard hanging at the end of the second-floor hall. She had been a petite woman, as Rissa was. But her grandmother’s hair had been red and her eyes hazel, unlike Rissa’s dark eyes and hair. The twins looked like their father, something Rissa had often resented because Ronald had so little affection for them. But she was pleased that something had caused Howard to see a resemblance of his wife in her today.

At dinner, Rissa related her brief visit with her grandfather to Winnie, Portia and Miranda. Ronald had refused to dine with the rest of the family and ate his meal alone in his office.

When she mentioned that Howard had called her Ethel, Winnie exclaimed, “I’ve always thought you favored my mother—not so much in looks but in disposition.”

“Does that include me, too?” Portia asked.

“No, the few traits that you and Rissa don’t share are the ways I could tell you apart when you were little.” Winnie laughed slightly. “I’m sorry, Rissa, but some of them are negative qualities.”

“Such as?”

“The way you frown too much, like you’re doing now, or how you’re often impatient. And you’ve always been easily distracted and more melancholy than your sisters.”

Rissa closed her eyes, confused by this unexpected assessment from her aunt. Winnie should have added that Rissa didn’t take criticism well, either, because her aunt’s words had cut like a knife.

Perhaps Winnie feared she had upset Rissa, because she gave her a hug. “But don’t let that bother you. It’s the endearing qualities that I notice most. The tenderness and love you have for your sisters, especially Portia. Your determination to follow a project through to completion no matter how difficult it is. The gentle ripple of your laughter when you’re truly happy.”

“Enough, Aunt Winnie,” Miranda cried. “You’ll swell her head. She already has an overabundance of pride.”

Rissa joined in the general laughter, determined not to be offended by Winnie’s negative words. Obviously the family didn’t know that her inner self was often at war with the calm, confident exterior she displayed to others. How long could she keep her depression diagnosis from her family?

After her long drive the previous night and the traumatic events that had greeted her, Rissa thought she would go to sleep as soon as she got in bed, but her mind was too active. Shivering from the cool breeze wafting into the room from the bay, Rissa got out of bed and closed the window. A flicker of lightning and a rumble of thunder alerted her to the approaching storm. She hurried back to bed and covered her head, aware that Portia was already asleep, breathing deeply.

Rissa had always been afraid during thunderstorms. When she was a child, she’d often run to Portia’s bed when bad weather had hit. By sheer self-will she had stopped doing that when she was a teenager. But the fear remained. That was one of the reasons she had gladly changed the coast of Maine for the asphalt jungle of New York.

She seldom woke up when a storm raged around her apartment in the city, because most of the time she couldn’t separate flashes of lightning from the street lights and neon signs. And the steady traffic along her street tended to cover the peals of thunder.

Rissa had discussed the fear of storms with her psychiatrist, telling her that it was storming the night her mother had died in a car accident. Because she had been only three at the time, Dr. Pearson doubted that she actually remembered the event. She suggested instead that, because Rissa had repeatedly heard about the bad weather the night her mother had died, she had learned to associate storms with thoughts of her mother.

Rissa delved into her memory for one of the verses she had memorized as a talisman against fear. A message of assurance from the Thirty-fourth Psalm came to mind.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

Rissa repeated it over and over until her pulse ceased racing and her body stopped trembling. Strengthened by the Word of God, and knowing that such fear was inconsistent with her Christian faith, Rissa got out of bed, intending to face her phobia.

She walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, lifted the windowpane, determined to experience the full force of the storm. She heard the unleashed power of the waves splashing against the coast. Wind howled around the turrets of Blanchard Manor, and leafless limbs on the oak and maple trees snapped like gunshots. In the intermittent flashes of lightning she saw that the spruces on the lawn overlooking the ocean were bending low from the force of the wind.

A peal of thunder ricocheted across the roof of the house. A streak of lightning zigzagged across the sky, so bright that for an instant the room was illuminated as if it were daylight. Rissa stumbled backward from the window in terror and slammed it shut.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

Straightening her spine, Rissa stepped in front of the window and stared belligerently into the darkness. Seeing the humor of the situation, she laughed slightly.

“This is ridiculous. What am I trying to prove? Get back in bed and go to sleep, silly,” she ordered herself. That was easier said than done. It was futile to lie down when she was wide awake. Taking a flashlight from the nightstand, she looked around the room for something to read but she found nothing.

She sat in a chair near the window, and as the storm continued to rage around Blanchard Manor, she remembered people in the Bible who were afraid.

The psalm she’d been quoting tonight had been written by King David, perhaps one of the bravest men in Biblical history, yet he had often been afraid. I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears had been written when David had feigned insanity to escape from King Abimelech.

Jesus had often stilled the fears of His disciples, especially during tempests on the Sea of Galilee. Paul, the apostle, had known fear during many stormy incidents in his ministry, but he had never failed to trust God’s power to deliver him from those fears.

The wind and thunder ceased and all was quiet in Blanchard Manor and in Rissa’s heart, but in the distance she heard another storm approaching. Her thoughts drifted from the Bible to one of Shakespeare’s dramas. Her favorite of the Bard’s work was Richard III. A year ago in New York she’d had the privilege of seeing the drama presented onstage by a troupe of traveling English actors and actresses. Richard had been a wicked man and had feared no one. Determined to claim the English crown, he had ordered the deaths of several competitors.

At the end of the presentation, Richard had been unhorsed in the conflict near Bosworth Field when the armies of Richard and the Earl of Richmond had engaged in combat. Richard had staggered onstage, his armor clanking, fear evident in his trembling body, as well as in his voice. Terror-stricken, he’d shouted, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

Thrilled as always when she thought of the play, Rissa had an overwhelming desire to read the saga again. Although she didn’t know why, the family had always been interested in Shakespeare’s works, and she was sure she could find a copy in the library. Carrying the flashlight, Rissa opened the bedroom door quietly. She descended the walnut staircase stealthily to keep from awakening the family. With her foot on the bottom step, she paused, feeling ill at ease.

One of the tall double doors into the library was ajar and she heard footsteps in the room. She turned off the flashlight, plunging the hallway into darkness. Considering the strange episode in the gazebo the night before, she decided it was wise to find out who else was awake before she went into the library. Rissa wasn’t the only sister afraid of storms, so one of them may have come downstairs to read. She started to call out to see who was in the library, but she hesitated. Who would be reading in the dark?

A flash of lightning illuminated the hallway briefly and Rissa listened intently. Again she heard a sound—as though something was being pulled across the library floor. A tingle of panic rippled up and down her spine. She instinctively turned and ascended three steps. But one of her sisters might be in trouble! In spite of her fear, she had to see what was going on.

A cold knot formed in Rissa’s stomach. With her heart thumping madly and her body quaking with fear, she moved forward until she stood in front of the library doors. Her hand trembled as she pushed one of the doors wide open and peered around it into the room. She was momentarily blinded by a flash when a gunshot pierced the quietness of Blanchard Manor. Tiny pieces of wood fell on her head as the door she was hiding behind splintered by a bullet. Rissa choked back a frightened cry, knowing that she had to get away, but she stood frozen in the doorway. A thump sounded inside the room, followed by absolute silence.

Rissa held on to the heavy door to keep from falling. No one moved inside the room.

Was she dreaming? When she was on the first medication prescribed by Dr. Pearson, she’d experienced nightmares. But since she’d changed to a milder prescription, that problem had been eliminated. Rissa knew she wasn’t dreaming now. But could her mind be playing tricks on her? She stuck her head around the door again just as a brilliant flash of lightning seared the heavens and made the library as light as day. A figure stood in the room facing away from Rissa, but when she gasped, the person, wearing a black mask, turned to face her, pointing a gun at her. Lightning flashed again, illuminating Rissa’s face, and although she had no idea who was standing in the library, the shooter had surely had a good look at her.

The figure headed toward her and fear lent speed to Rissa’s feet as she leaped across the hallway, dodged into the living room and slammed the door. Leaning against the door, gasping for breath, she heard footsteps fleeing toward the back entrance of the house.

Rissa knew she had witnessed a crime of some sort and she might be in grave danger. When she heard the back door close, she cracked the living-room door an inch and peered into the hallway. She listened to see if the gunshot had awakened the rest of the family. Apparently not. Except for the faint rumble of thunder fading into the distance, she heard nothing.

Should she go into the library and see what had happened? Had some member of her family been killed? She needed help, and she knew the only place to find it.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

God, what should I do?