“Cholly said Tracemore’s with you.” She paused. “Can you talk to my brother for me? Tell him I’m sorry? I’ve left messages, but he won’t return my calls.”
I glanced in the picture window. Trace had disappeared down a hallway. “I can’t make him do anything.”
“Please. I’m desperate.”
I propped my palm on my forehead as my mind raced. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m not askin’, I’m beggin’.”
I weighed my options. Finding none, I went back in as Trace reemerged. “Hold on,” I said to Beverly. After a hasty prayer, I slowly offered him the phone. “It’s for you.”
He was rummaging through a dusty box. “Huh?”
“It’s your sister.”
His back stiffened. He drew up in silence, dug his hands into his pockets and wandered to the picture window in the front where he stood, gazing outside. “Take a message.”
A lump welled in my throat. “But, Trace—”
“Take. A damn. Message.”
I blinked at his brittle tone and searched for words. “Ah, he…he can’t talk right now, Beverly. I’m sorry.”
“You mean he won’t,” came the sad reply.
I didn’t answer, just fixed my eyes on his rigid shoulders. When the line went dead, I shoved the phone back into my pocket. It was hard not to take his rude admonition personally. “She’s your sister for God’s sake.”
He was still staring outside. “I need time.”
“Then why couldn’t you have said that?”
“Leave it alone, Shannon.”
Minutes went by without either of us speaking. Our reckless moment and the aftermath of Beverly’s call, lingered. This was going nowhere fast, so I flipped the channel in my brain. “How was Mother lying when you found her?”
He angled around and met my gaze. The wall that had separated us before was back. I could see it in his face.
He stared up at the ceiling as if to pull a memory down. “On her side, with her head resting against her shoulder,” he said in monotone. “There was a blood trail from her to that door over there.” He hitched his chin at the short hallway that led to a loft and the rear exit. “It happened in the garden.”
A chill slivered through me. “She must have crawled inside while the killer fled. Ours were the only footprints.”
I tried to imagine things as they were. The cement floor in the next room. The workbench. The tools hanging on the walls.
“I saw you from that hallway.” I nodded toward the rear. “You were kneeling beside her and when I made a noise, you looked up. So I ducked. Then….” I rubbed my temples, fighting to capture a fuzzy image. “Did you give her mouth-to-mouth?”
His brow lifted. “That damn sure wasn’t in your testimony.”
“Because I just remembered it.” I kneaded the bridge of my nose. “My God, what else have I forgotten?” What else, indeed. But how desperate was I to find out? I took a shuddery breath. “Can you get me an appointment?”
“With who?”
I fortified my resolve and looked him square in the eyes. “Your psychiatrist. I’m ready to try hypnosis.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Woman On Fire
SHANNON
____________________________
Harrison Bradford’s younger brother lurked in the study doorway beneath a row of recessed ceiling lights. “What are you doing in here, gumdrop?”
I gripped the armrests of the club chair as he closed the doors behind him. Though I’d rehearsed what I’d planned to say to Uncle Sears a million times, it hadn’t stopped the automatic clenching in my stomach.
“We need to talk,” I said with false calm.
“I already told you I had nothing to do with blacklisting that vile man.”
“This isn’t about Trace.”
“Well, it’s obviously about something just as unpleasant, given that sour face of yours.” Light and shadow rippled over Uncle’s tall, rawboned frame as he approached me. Despite the paunch clotting his middle, he had the grace of a panther and the stride of a man in control of himself and those around him.
He’d combed his wavy silver-blonde hair back, taming it with pomade. Narrow-faced and clean-shaven, he wore his usual evening garb: navy blue satin PJs and a matching smoking jacket. He took a seat on the leather sofa across from me. “Is this ‘talk’ the reason you were quiet at dinner as well?”
Quiet? Try angry. Try anxious—and betrayed. “Did Auntie know about Mother’s obsession with you?”
He registered momentary surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“I visited Valene Campbell, Cheltenham Manor’s old cook. She said Mother was in love with you. Did Auntie know?”
His walls went up immediately.
I watched him weigh all the ‘what ifs,’ and ‘why nots.’ If he answered me, he’d be acknowledging something he wanted to avoid, but if he didn’t….
“I never told her,” he finally replied begrudgingly.
His admission left me temporarily speechless. “Why not?”
“I wanted to spare her feelings.”
“Did Mother tell her?”
“Of course not. Lilith was too much of a coward. Luckily your Aunt still believes that woman gave a damn about her.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Mrs. Campbell also said Uncle Jackson blackmailed her into keeping silent.”
Sears removed a crisp, white hanky from his breast pocket and slid his glasses off. He started cleaning them, his movements smooth. Arching a brow, he asked, “Was this visit in any way connected to your trip to Cheltenham Manor?”
I hadn’t seen that one coming. “How in the world—”
“Someone observed you leaving. With him.”
In times past, I’d have stumbled right into Uncle’s trap. He and Auntie would put me on the defensive. They’d ram the same nauseating twaddle about appearances down my throat. Then I’d give the appropriate contrite response. They’d trained me better than Pavlov trained his dogs.
I met his accusing stare. “What went on between Mother and you? Have you ever left calla lilies at her grave?”
He shoved his glasses back on. Scowling, he tossed the hanky, then pushed off the sofa and started pacing.
Ah, yes, Uncle was definitely rattled.
“I’m seeing a hypnotist,” I announced, feeling rather smug and liking it. “I’ve already had two consultations with him. Next time, he’s going to try and put me under, but before he does, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
Tension sharpened his features as he ran a hand up and down his left arm. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, but some things are best left alone.”
His abrupt change in temperament intrigued me. I eased myself up. Studying him like a painting that had just been unveiled, I stepped closer. “Trace is innocent. He tried to help me, but you know that already, don’t you?”
“I know no such thing,” he countered. “And his motives for helping you now aren’t as altruistic as you think.”
“Spare me.” I propped my fists on my hips. “FYI, Uncle, I saw him give Mother mouth-to-mouth. Why would a spade-wielding Bluebeard do that?”
“Remorse. Guilt. How should I know?” Still massaging his arm, he glared at me. He was becoming more agitated by the second. “Whatever you think you remember didn’t happen. It’s just something your mind cooked up. Lilith ended their affair, fired him, and so he killed her.”
I shook my head. “You’re actually starting to believe your own lies.”
He tore away to the mini bar, splashed a few fingers of brandy into a snifter. After draining it, he slammed the stem down and rounded on me. “Don’t you find it strange no one else got murdered after they threw that scoundrel in jail?”