“I love a maiden fair with sunlight in her hair. Her name is Rachel,” he sang softly, toying with the tendrils of spun gold that curled around her face. “My love for her is true. Whatever shall I do? She-aargh!”
The glider gave a sudden lurch backward. Instinctively, Bryan’s arms tightened around Rachel, pulling her off the thing with him as he fell with a thud to the ground. She gave a squeal of surprise and landed on him, forcing the breath out of him.
“I’ve heard of the earth moving, but this is ridiculous,” he said, coughing and squinting against the pain as he tried to suck air into his lungs.
“Are you all right?” Rachel asked. She sat up and tugged her sweater on over her head.
“Nothing wounded but my pride.”
Bryan’s attention was riveted on a spot behind the bench. He fumbled for his glasses and pulled them on, squinting into the darkness as his sixth sense hummed inside him.
Rachel’s suddenly startled gaze followed his. “Did you see someone?”
“No,” Bryan said evenly. It was what he hadn’t seen that was important, but he knew Rachel wouldn’t want to hear about it.
He stood up, straightening his clothes, then offered Rachel a hand. “I guess that was just a sign that it’s time for us to go back to the house.”
Rachel scooped up their wineglasses and they walked back across the yard arm in arm. Rounding the corner of the house, they stopped in their tracks at the sight that greeted them.
There was a woman sitting on a stack of suitcases on the front porch. She was a thin, birdlike creature with a wild nest of gray hair on her head. The tip of her cigarette glowed red in the dim light of the porch.
“Bryan!” She shouted his name and popped up off her perch like a jack-in-the-box. “There you are! I must have rang the bell a hundred times! A hundred times!”
“It’s broken,” Bryan mumbled, momentarily stunned. He mounted the stairs in a daze.
“My stars, it’s good to see you, sweetheart!” The woman had a voice like sandpaper, and her cigarette bobbed up and down on her lip as she spoke. She threw her arms around Bryan in an exuberant hug which he started to return, but he quickly jumped back as she burned a hole through his shirt.
He plucked the smoldering fabric away from his skin, pain putting a brittle edge to his grin. “Aunt Roberta! It’s so good to see you!” he said with genuine affection, but his brows pulled together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
Roberta cackled like a crazed chicken and waved a hand at him. “Making the rounds of my nieces and nephews. I wrote you, sweetheart. I know I wrote you.”
“You did?” Bryan searched his brain for any memory of such a letter but came up blank.
Roberta’s glassy green eyes took on the same kind of absent look as she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I meant to.”
Rachel cleared her throat discreetly, drawing both their attention. Bryan looked at her as if he had never seen her before, then jumped to introduce her.
“Rachel, this is my aunt, Roberta Palmer. Aunt Roberta, this is Rachel Lindquist.”
Roberta’s eyes seemed to bore right into Rachel. “My gosh, Bryan, she’s a doll! A doll!” She grasped Rachel’s hand in a death grip. “You’re just a doll, Raquel!”
“Rachel,” Rachel mumbled, completely thrown off by this strange woman who appeared to be drowning in a Notre Dame sweatshirt five sizes too big for her. “Thank you.”
“My gosh,” Roberta whispered, shaking her head at some secret amazement.
They all stood staring at one another for a long moment. Finally Rachel roused the manners her mother had drilled into her. “Why don’t we all go inside? I’ll make us a pot of coffee. Decaf,” she added, thinking Bryan’s aunt didn’t need to get any more wired than she already was.
They trooped into the hall, and Bryan dropped his aunt’s luggage down on the marble floor at the foot of the grand staircase. The stuff weighed a ton and a half.
“How long will you be staying, Aunt Roberta?” he asked.
Roberta shrugged, her face alight with excitement as she set off after Rachel. “A month or so.”
With a wry smile Bryan dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of notes. He sorted through them until he found the one he wanted, then he located his pencil and amended the missive.
Beware of aunts.
ELEVEN
September 12, 1931
Great luck at Monte’s. Mrs. R. very accommodating.
September 21, 1931
Clement sisters staying with H. Langely. Real gems.
Must call again.
September 25, 1931
Langely off to San Francisco. Golden opportunity.
Thank you, C. sisters.
Bryan shifted his back against the headboard, sighed, and turned the page. So far Arthur Drake’s journal was providing him with nothing but an account of the man’s rather promiscuous love life. He couldn’t imagine what Porky and the Rat would have wanted with it, but he figured he had only a short time to find out. They would be back to claim the thing, of that he was certain.
Why did they want Drake House? What did Porchind’s relative, the late Mr. Pig, have to do with it?
Money. That word came to him strongly, but it didn’t make any sense. The condition it was in, Drake House wasn’t worth anything. The property itself might have had development possibilities, but that didn’t strike him as the reason. There was no adjacent development in the works. Anastasia already had its share of inns and hotels. There was some other reason, and it had to do with money and this little black book he held pressed to his bare chest.
It was nearly two A.M. They had settled Aunt Roberta in Rachel’s room for the night. Rachel lay snuggled against him, sound asleep. She looked so young when she was sleeping, so pretty, so free of worry. Desire stirred in him anew. He would have liked nothing better than to rouse her with kisses and make love to her again, but she was exhausted and he had work to do.
He turned another page in the diary.
September 27, 1931
Party with A.W. at Garner’s. My friend has a dangerous tongue. Worked to my advantage tonight. Caught Cecilia Jonstone unawares while Archie made a friend.
September 29, 1931
Pig getting too fat and sassy. Must roast soon.
October 10, 1931
Stuck pig. Ducky outfoxed the pig! My turn to get fat.
“Stuck pig,” Bryan mumbled. He ran a hand back through his disheveled hair. “Stuck pig.”
“Mmmm?” Rachel mumbled in her sleep.
She turned over and snuggled closer to him still, kicking the sheet off and using his belly for a pillow. Bryan bit his lip against the groan that rose up in his throat. Her cheek was soft and cool against his skin. Her warm breath swept across his groin as she sighed. As she settled down he forced his attention back to the book.
October 12, 1931
Can’t find A.W. anywhere. Worried he said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
Rachel murmured something unintelligible in her sleep and Bryan had to choke back another groan as her lips brushed against his stomach muscles. She nuzzled against him and brought her hand up his thigh to rest it in a spot that made sweat break out on his forehead. A contented smile curved her mouth as she stroked him. Molten heat seared his veins, pooling in the pit of his belly.
His body’s reaction was inevitable, which seemed to please the sleeping Rachel. She mumbled something softly and the vibration of her lips against his skin just about sent Bryan over the edge. He tried to ease away from her, but her fingers closed around him and all he could do was close his eyes and whimper. She was giving him a five-star arousal and the little minx was sound asleep!