Читать книгу Sound Of Fear - Marta Perry - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

DARKNESS SEEMED TO fall earlier here than in the city. Especially when she was alone in the cottage with just Barney for company. Amanda knew that was an illusion, caused by the lack of ambient light in the surroundings, but it was isolating.

She crumpled the paper in front of her and tossed it in the direction of the trash can. And then got up to throw it into the can when it landed on the floor.

Barney, who’d been lying on the rug he’d appropriated as his own, raised his head and looked at her.

“I know, I know. I’d better give it up for a bad job.”

She’d been trying to compose a letter to Elizabeth Winthrop, explaining the situation and asking for an interview, but she couldn’t find the right words. One draft had sounded pleading, another vaguely threatening. Neither was the impression she wanted to make on the woman who might be her great-grandmother.

There had been a photo of Elizabeth accompanying one of the newspaper articles—obviously a staged head shot. Even in that, the lined face had portrayed both grimness and determination. A woman with a face like that wasn’t likely to be guided by emotion.

At least Amanda’s research had given her a clearer picture of the Winthrop family. Melanie had been the daughter of Elizabeth’s only son. He and his wife had been killed in a plane crash when Melanie was only a few months old, leaving Elizabeth to raise their child.

Elizabeth had a daughter as well, Betty Ann, who was much younger than her brother. An afterthought? An accident? Who could say?

Betty Ann was married to Donald Shay. From what Amanda had been able to glean, Shay ran the mill and managed the various properties owned by the family.

Aunt Betty. Uncle Donald. No, she didn’t imagine she’d ever be on those terms with them. Especially when she couldn’t compose a simple letter stating her case. All of this searching and interviewing was frustrating, when a DNA test could give the answer.

And it still wouldn’t tell her whether Juliet had legally adopted her. If Robert’s investigators weren’t able to find anything one way or the other, what then? Did she have any rights at all? She and Robert hadn’t discussed the worst-case scenario, and maybe they should have. Juliet had referred to Amanda as her daughter in her will. She’d think that would count for something with a judge, assuming it went that far.

She could ask Trey, she supposed. Always assuming he wasn’t fed up with her and her problems. She’d lost her temper with him earlier. Or maybe it was fairer to say that they’d both been exasperated with each other, but he’d been the first to extend an olive branch.

Barney raised his head again, but this time he wasn’t looking at her. He stared for a long moment at the front window of the cottage, as if looking for something out there in the dark.

“What is it, boy?” She went to the window and peered out, but could see nothing. The darkness was complete except for the rectangle of yellow light that lay across the porch from the window. “There’s nothing.”

Barney whined a little in apparent disagreement. He got up, padding softly from one window to the next. A little frisson of alarm slid down her spine.

“Come on, Barney. Are you trying to unnerve me?” She forced herself to turn away from the windows and took hold of his collar.

Barney gave a sudden, sharp bark, followed by a volley of barking and a lunge at the window. She swung around, and her heart jumped into her throat. Something—a face—pressed against the window, distorted by the glass.

Then the person withdrew a few inches and raised a hand in a wave. Amanda had a hysterical desire to laugh. It wasn’t a monster or an enemy pressing against the glass. It was Bertram Berkley, her mother’s agent. What was he doing here? She couldn’t imagine anything that would take him away from the city.

She went to the door, clutching Barney’s collar while she reassured him. Unlocking the door, she swung it open.

“Bertram! What are you doing here? You startled me. I didn’t hear your car.”

“Are you mad?” He hustled inside as if eager for shelter against the dark. “Drive my car up the rutted lane? Never. I left it down by the farmhouse. That road is bad enough.” He shuddered elaborately, overacting as always.

“Come now, it’s not that terrible. I’ve been bringing my SUV in and out with no problems.” She closed the door, realizing that he hadn’t answered her question about why he was here.

“Forgive me, dear, but your SUV is not a mint condition BMW.”

“Then you should have rented something more sensible to come here. And what are you doing here, anyway? If you’d called...”

“If I’d called, you’d have told me to stay in Boston.” He seated himself in the most comfortable chair and adjusted the crease in his trousers. “The famous Bertram Berkley charm doesn’t come across as well on the telephone.”

Amused in spite of herself, Amanda smiled as she sat down across from him. After a suspicious sniff at Bertram’s shoes, Barney returned to his hearth rug. Silence fell, almost oppressive. Bertram had brought a different atmosphere with him, but she couldn’t say it was an improvement.

She studied him, trying to figure out what he was feeling, but as always, she had a sense that his face reflected a carefully cultivated facade. “What’s so important that you chased me all the way up here on a workday to talk about? If this is about putting on a show again...”

“It’s Friday, dear,” he said gently. “I’m taking the weekend off. How better to enjoy it than a nice trip into the Pennsylvania mountains?”

“I should think a nice trip into New York City would be more to your taste.” He was right; it was Friday. She’d lost track of the days since she’d been here. Echo Falls seemed to exist in a world of its own.

“True.” He sighed elaborately. “But I’m endlessly self-sacrificing when it comes to my work.”

“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I’m really not at a place where I want to talk about my mother’s painting yet. It’s too soon.”

“My dear girl, it’s not too soon at all. The time to do a tribute to Juliet Curtiss is now, while she’s still in the public mind.”

“You mean you want to capitalize on her death.” She should have realized Bertram wouldn’t give up so easily. Her mother had been able to shut him down when he got carried away, but Amanda had yet to develop that gift.

“Not capitalize.” He shook his head, his expressive face drawing down into lines of sorrow, either at Juliet’s death or at Amanda’s failure to recognize his opinion. “A tribute, I said. We must remind the public of what has been so needlessly lost. A gifted artist, cut off in her prime by this horrific plague of gun violence—it’s a comment on our time.”

Amanda rubbed her forehead. “I can see some sense in what you’re saying, and I know you mean well. But I really can’t focus on that now. We’ll plan it together once I get past the shock, all right?”

She thought he looked as if he’d like to tell her she’d had three whole weeks to recover, but maybe she was wrong.

“That will be too late.” He leaned forward, intent. “Don’t you see? The market for Juliet Curtiss’s work is at an all-time high right now. We can’t let this slip away. You’re losing money with every week that passes.”

He meant sales. She supposed he knew what he was talking about, but... Then reality hit her like a hammer blow. Did she even have the right to sell Juliet’s paintings? A pit seemed to open in front of her, warning of all the possible missteps she could be taking.

That was another unarguable reason why she couldn’t agree with Bertram about the show he wanted. And it was one she didn’t dare tell him. She didn’t have any illusions about Bertram, any more than her mother had had.

Bertram’s good at what he does or I wouldn’t let him near my work. But his moral sense is nonexistent.

“Here.” Bertram pulled a folder from the leather portfolio he’d carried in with him, thrusting it toward her. “I have all the details worked out. You’ll see. It will be perfect, and you don’t have to do a thing.”

She took the folder because it was easier than arguing. She’d need to have legal advice before she sold even one of her mother’s paintings, but she couldn’t tell him that.

“I’ll look it over, I promise. I’ll let you know what I think. But it’s still going to have to wait awhile. Maybe next month.”

Maybe by next month she’d know whether she had any rights at all in Juliet’s estate, including the right to sell any of her paintings. For a moment despair swept over her. How was she going to deal with this? She didn’t doubt that Juliet thought everything had been settled with her will. If only she’d confided in Robert, or even in Amanda...

But that wouldn’t help her in dealing with Bertram right at the moment.

Anger had narrowed his eyes. “Next month? But I’ve explained all that already. Really, Amanda, you’ll have to trust me in this regard. Your mother would have understood the importance of timing. Even her brother sees that...”

“Her brother? George Curtiss?” Whether he was still Uncle George was up for debate. “When did you talk to him? And why?”

Bertram seemed to realize he’d made a misstep. He stretched his hands out in a placating motion, but it was too late for that.

“Well?” She stood, giving herself the advantage of height. “Why were you discussing my business with George?”

Bertram turned sulky. “He’s an interested party, isn’t he? After all, he was Juliet’s brother. Her closest relative. After you. Really, Amanda, I’m just trying to do my best for you.”

Whether there was any suspicion or malicious intent in his words, she didn’t know, but she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be intimidated by him. Bertram would be doing what was best for him.

Anger stiffened her spine. “I expect discretion from you, Bertram. You shouldn’t be discussing my business with anyone else, including George Curtiss. If I don’t feel assured of your discretion and loyalty, I will put my mother’s work into other hands. Is that clear?”

She didn’t know whether she had the right to do that, either, but she suspected it would be an effective threat.

“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” He rose, regaining his usual urbane smile. “I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with my work. After all, your mother trusted me to handle everything. With her input, of course,” he added hastily, maybe reading a rebuttal in her face. “Look, why don’t you let me take you out someplace for a glass of wine and a bite to eat? Surely this burg has one decent restaurant that’s open on Friday night.”

“I’ve already eaten, thanks. And you’d better be on your way to wherever you’re staying tonight.”

Bertram gave a speculative glance around the cottage. “If you have an extra bedroom, maybe you could put me up.”

So he could resume his argument in the morning. She didn’t think so.

“I’m afraid not,” she said, blandly ignoring the guest room. “You’ll find quite a nice motel near Williamsport.” She opened the door. Barney rose to his feet, responsive to her cues, as if ready to hasten Bertram’s departure.

“But really, Amanda...” He broke off when Barney gave a warning growl in response to his tone. “Very well. I’ll call you in the morning. At least lend me a flashlight to get back down the excuse for a driveway.”

Amanda went to the kitchen drawer where she’d found a small flashlight. “Here you are. Don’t disturb the Burkhalters, but just leave it on their back porch. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

He went out and then turned back. “Maybe we could meet for breakfast in the morning. Just so you can give me your reaction to the plans.”

“I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow. You may as well get on the road without bothering to come back to town. I’ll email you once I’ve had a chance to look over your plans.”

He hesitated, as if thinking of making a comeback, but Barney came and pressed against Amanda’s leg, effectively filling the doorway. “Very well. Good night.” He flicked on the flashlight and marched off.

Amanda stood on the porch and watched the circle of light until it disappeared when he rounded a bend in the lane. Then the darkness closed in on her, and she shivered. Silly. But she wasn’t sure when she’d last felt so alone.

* * *

NORMALLY TREY SPENT Saturday catching up on the chores he’d neglected all week in the press of work. Since he’d bought the small Craftsman bungalow on Oak, he’d learned that homeownership brought with it far more responsibilities than he’d anticipated.

Today, for instance, he should be raking and bagging leaves. But it was one of those rare, beautiful October days when the sun was warm and the world around him seemed touched by golden light. It demanded that a person get out and enjoy it, before November brought cold, rainy days and the prospect of early snow.

His fallen leaves continued to form a brown and orange carpet over the small lawn, while he headed out to the Burkhalter farm. Not necessarily to see Amanda, he assured himself. But he’d been troubled by what she’d said about Sarah, and he wanted to see for himself. He couldn’t imagine Sarah being anything but friendly and welcoming.

Amanda must have misunderstood. He’d see Sarah, straighten it out, and at the same time find out if she knew who the Amish boy was who’d found Melanie’s body. She was bound to know, or at least be able to find out. In fact, it had probably been one of her kinfolk. Mike had said it was one of the Miller kids, and Sarah had been a Miller before she married Amos.

Trey turned up the lane that led to the cottage, raising a hand to Amos, who was heading toward the barn. When he pulled up at the cottage, Amanda came out on the porch. He felt a wave of pleasure at the sight of her. Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair pulled back and fastened at her nape, she looked as if she belonged here.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” She spoke as he got out of the car, coming toward him.

“I took a chance you’d be here. Thought I’d like to have a word with Sarah to see if she can identify the boy who found Melanie’s body.”

An expression of doubt crossed Amanda’s face. “I told you she hasn’t been exactly forthcoming on the subject, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but sometimes the Amish can seem standoffish when they’re not aware of it. Sarah has known me since I was a kid.” He grinned. “In fact, she used to babysit me when she was a teenager. Let me try my luck.”

Amanda shrugged, conceding, and they started down the path together. “I wondered how you came to be such close friends with the Burkhalter family. I’ll have to ask Sarah what kind of kid you were.”

“Obedient and well-behaved, of course,” he said lightly. “My father owns some land that adjoins the Burkhalter farm. He doesn’t have any use for it, so he lets Amos keep it in hay. That kind of gave me free run of the farm. I loved it out here.” He looked around at the golden hillside, the fields a patchwork now of gold and brown. “I still do.”

They approached the house and found Sarah hanging a row of sheets on the line. She pinned the last one in place and then turned to face them.

“Trey. I thought that might be your car I heard.” She flickered a meaningful glance toward Amanda. “Amos is in the barn if you are wanting to see him.”

“Actually, I’d like a word with you. We’ve been asking a few questions about Melanie Winthrop’s accident up at the falls all those years ago. I understand it was one of the Miller boys who found her.”