Afraid (15 page)

Julie had just finished answering several reservation calls when Donna rushed into the lobby. She looked up with a smile as Donna darted around the back of the desk and set down a small plate.

“Louisiana Crab Cakes. They're our special appetizer tonight. But don't let your uncle see them. He doesn't let anybody eat at the desk.”

“Thanks.” Julie moved a piece of paper over to hide the plate. “What's wrong with Uncle Bob tonight? He's really cranky.”

Donna moved closer and lowered her voice. “I think he's drinking again. He went on a real bender after Vicki died, and he hasn't been the same since. Ross says he wanders around late at night, and every couple of months he goes off in the mountains all alone and doesn't come back for days.”

“That's awful.” Julie frowned. “It must be very hard on Aunt Caroline.”

Donna nodded. “I know it is. She told me she's been trying to get him to go back to AA, so he can straighten out his life.”

Julie stared after Donna as she hurried back into the restaurant. She'd thought she'd smelled liquor on Uncle Bob's breath this afternoon, but she hadn't been sure. And Donna's comment had explained a lot. She'd wondered why her aunt waved the wine bottle away at dinner, and now she knew: Uncle Bob was an alcoholic. That was why the liquor cabinet in their living room was filled with nothing but soft drinks. And it also explained why Uncle Bob had been so crabby. If he was drinking again, he was probably feeling guilty about his lapse.

Donna's words had jarred some memory, just below the surface. Julie sighed and shut her eyes, trying to remember back to the time when her aunt had visited them in Tokyo. She'd been sent off to bed while the grownups stayed up late to talk. But she'd been curious, and she'd slipped back down the stairs to listen.

Aunt Caroline had cried, and said she was leaving Uncle Bob. Julie remembered that. She'd said something about another woman, and how Uncle Bob had been drinking too much. Julie's parents had recommended Alcoholics Anonymous, and it must have worked, because Aunt Caroline and Uncle Bob had stayed together.

Before Julie could dredge up any more memories, the front door opened and a crowd of people came in. One glance at them and Julie knew exactly who they were. The men looked rich and successful, and they were dressed in expensive casual wear. And the women were exactly as Donna had described . . . and then some! The last time Julie bad seen so much bare skin was on a nude beach in the South of France.

The women were young and beautiful. Their hair was perfect, their makeup was faultless, and they were all smiling up at their dates with identical adoring expressions on their faces. They were dressed in low-cut evening gowns, and to use the new slang phrase Donna had taught her, they all had bodies to die for. Julie thought they looked like they didn't have a brain among them, but they were gorgeous.

The man in the lead was dressed in slacks and a black silk shirt, open at the neck. His jacket was slung casually over his shoulder, and he looked like he'd stepped right out of the pages of a men's fashion advertisement. He had dark, curly hair and a deeply tanned face. Julie recognized him immediately—Dick Stratford. His eyes were the same shade of slate gray as Ryan's.

He strode toward the desk with the bearing of a man who knew exactly where he was going and why. But he stopped cold as he saw Julie.

“Mr. Stratford?” Julie smiled, and her heart beat a little faster. His eyes were every bit as compelling as his son's.

“Yes.” His voice was deep and intimate, and Julie shivered. It was a bedroom voice, a voice that would whisper sweet, sexy things in some woman's ear. He stared at Julie, blinked hard, and then smiled. “Ah, yes. The little cousin. Julie, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir.” Julie took a deep breath. “Your table is ready. If you'll wait just a moment, I'll call for the hostess to show you the way.”

“That's not necessary. We've been here before. Come on, Bunny. Let's go.” Dick Stratford tucked his date's hand under his arm, and escorted her toward the private dining room.

Julie stifled a giggle as she watched them leave. Dick Stratford's date was aptly named. She had long, honey-colored hair and huge brown eyes with impossibly long eyelashes. Her lips were pouty, and her walk was a sexy wiggle. Julie could imagine how a powder puff tail would bounce if someone pinned it to the back of her gold cocktail dress.

To make the resemblance even more startling, Bunny was also very short. That meant she had to hop a bit to keep up with Dick Stratford's long strides. As they turned to go into the private dining room, Julie noticed Bunny's dress, and she bit back another giggle. The gold material clung to her figure like a second skin, and it was slit up both sides. It was lucky that Paul was no longer allowed to work at one of Dick Stratford's parties. If he'd served Bunny, he'd have dropped much more than a bowl of creamed spinach!

After Dick Stratford's dinner guests had left, there was a flurry of calls. Julie answered them quickly, connecting one to the housekeeping desk, another to the long distance operator, and a third and fourth to room service. Mixed in with the in-house calls were several requests for reservations, and one inquiry about a tour group which she referred to Ross.

The old adage was true—after the storm came the calm. After the brief flurry of calls, there was a long, silent interval when the phone didn't ring at all. Julie listened to the sounds from the dining room, glasses clinking, silverware clattering, the low hum of polite dinner conversation. That got boring after a while, and she'd just opened her history book to do a little extra reading when the phone rang again.

“Saddlepeak Lodge. This is Julie speaking. How may I help you?”

There was silence and Julie frowned. A bad connection? She could hear noise in the background and a crackle of static, but the sounds were faraway and indistinct. She was about to hang up when she heard a muffled, whispery voice.

“Julie. You look so pretty in that bright red sweater. Don't do what your wicked cousin did or you'll wind up dead, too.”

Then there was nothing but silence again, and the faint indistinct noise in the background. Julie shuddered, and her fingers gripped the receiver so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

“Hello? Hello? Who is this?”

But there was no answer, just the faint crackling of a bad connection. And then she heard something that frightened her even more. A low chuckle that grew to an ominous laugh. And then a click. And a dial tone, loud and jarring, as the call was cut off.

The phone slipped from Julie's nerveless fingers and dropped back into the cradle with a thump. A wrong number? He'd known her name, but she'd identified herself when she'd answered the phone. It could have been a prank, a childish attempt to scare her. But why? What had she done to make someone want to frighten her?

She sat behind the desk, face white, hands shaking, trying to imagine why anyone would make such a call. The voice had been deep and gruff. A man's voice. He'd known that she was Vicki's cousin, but everyone in Crest Ridge knew that.

Julie reached out for a piece of paper and forced her shaking fingers to write down the words exactly as he'd spoken them.
Julie. You look so pretty in that bright red sweater
. . .

She was about to continue when she looked down at the bright red sleeve of her sweater. The pen dropped from her shaking fingers and she gasped in terror. He'd known what she was wearing! Her caller was here, and he was watching her!

Julie felt the back of her neck prickle. It was the same feeling she'd had at the skating rink, the feeling of being watched by hostile eyes. She swiveled around to stare out the window. The grounds looked lovely and peaceful, a white expanse of freshly fallen snow that glittered under the spotlights. Perfectly beautiful. Perfectly still. But he could be out there somewhere, peering out from the corner of a building, or hiding behind one of the huge pine trees. He could be anywhere, lurking in any of a thousand dark shadows while she sat here shaking, exposed by the bright lobby lights.

Deliberately, Julie turned her back on the window. She told herself there was nothing out there, no reason to be in such a panic. She'd been sitting at the switchboard for over an hour and there had been a steady stream of guests and employees who had walked through the lobby. Anyone of them might have noticed that she was wearing a red sweater. It was only a prank—a mean, spiteful trick. She should ignore it and go on as if it had never happened.

Although Julie did her best to push down her fear, nothing she tried had any effect. She could still hear the echoes of that muffled voice, and with each passing second her anxiety grew. Her heart pounded hard and adrenaline surged through her veins. Her mind was flashing a message to her trembling body. Scream. Run to the safety of the restaurant. But how would she explain why she'd left the switchboard? Uncle Bob would think she was crazy to get so upset over a crank phone call.

Julie had to write down the rest of the message. She picked up the pen again and forced herself to continue.
Don't do what your wicked cousin did or you'll wind up dead, too.
The words were ominous, and she stared down at them as if they could somehow magically explain themselves. “Wicked” was a strange word to use, almost old-fashioned, the type of word you'd hear in a fairy tale. How had Vicki been wicked? What had she done?

Julie pushed that part of the sentence out of her mind and concentrated on the rest. As she read the words, she felt her panic rise to the surface again. At first she'd thought that Vicki's death was accidental. That was horrible enough, but then Donna had told her that Vicki had committed suicide, something Julie found even more dreadful. This message hinted at something even more frightening, something so gruesome Julie didn't even want to think about it. Vicki had been wicked, and now she was dead. What if Vicki hadn't committed suicide? What if she'd been murdered?

Julie shuddered as she remembered that chilling laugh. And the creepy feeling of being watched. If the man on the phone had murdered Vicki, would he try to kill her, too?

A
fter an hour of nothing but routine calls, Julie began to relax again. She was grateful she hadn't given way to her fear and gone screaming into the dining room. There was no one out there, watching her. She'd just overreacted to a prank call.

“Here's your dinner, Julie.” Uncle Bob was frowning as he walked in with a covered platter and set it on the desk in front of her.

“But, Uncle Bob . . . I thought you didn't want anyone to eat while they were working the switchboard. Donna said that was one of your rules.”

“That's true, but Caro overruled me tonight.”

Julie looked up in surprise, but Uncle Bob seemed to be avoiding her eyes. “Thank you, Uncle Bob. I'll be careful not to spill anything.”

“Good. I have to talk to you, Julie. It's about that sweater of yours.”

Julie tried not to look surprised. What was wrong with her sweater? “Yes, Uncle Bob?”

“It's much too tight. And that color just calls attention to . . . well, you're a bright girl. You know what I mean.”

Julie was so shocked, she almost objected. Her sweater wasn't tight at all. But one look at Uncle Bob's glowering face and she decided to back down.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Bob. I won't wear it again, if you object. Would you like me to go upstairs and change?”

“It's too late for that. Just try to be more modest in the future. If you need some larger clothes, just ask Caro or me, and we'll see that you get them.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bob.” Julie did her best to smile. She could tell that Uncle Bob was very crabby tonight, and she could smell alcohol on his breath. If Donna was right and he
was
starting in on another bender, she didn't want to do anything to anger him.

“All right, then. Enjoy your dinner.” Uncle Bob started for the door, but then turned and came back. “Here's your paycheck.”

“My paycheck?” Julie stared down at the envelope he handed her. “But Uncle Bob . . . I never expected you and Aunt Caroline to pay me.”

Uncle Bob frowned. “Of course we're paying you. You're working for us, aren't you?”

“Well . . . yes.” Julie was clearly embarrassed. “But you and Aunt Caroline are my family. You're already giving me room and board, and it wouldn't be fair if you paid me, too.”

“Why not? We paid Vicki when she worked at the switchboard.”

“You did?”

“Of course. If she hadn't done it, we'd have had to hire someone else for the job.”

Julie could see his point, but she still shook her head. “I can't let you pay me, Uncle Bob. It just wouldn't be right. You've both done so much for me.”

“Well . . .” Uncle Bob seemed at a loss for words. He looked down at the envelope, and then he shrugged. “All right. If you're sure . . .”

“I'm sure.”

“Maybe I've misjudged you, Julie.” Uncle Bob looked flustered as he took back the envelope. “I'm sorry if I gave you a rough time.”

“It's all right, Uncle Bob. I understand. And please tell me if you think I'm wearing something inappropriate. I certainly wouldn't want to embarrass you or Aunt Caroline.”

“Well . . . I may have been overreacting a bit.” Uncle Bob sighed deeply. “It's just that Vicki used to wear things that were totally unsuitable. Too tight. Too short. It was like she was advertising herself to the staff and the guests. And I was afraid you might be starting to do the same thing. I guess I was afraid that you'd end up like . . . like my poor little Vicki.”

Suddenly it struck Julie. Uncle Bob was talking about Vicki, the first time he'd really mentioned her. Would it be wrong to ask a few questions? She'd never know unless she tried. Julie took a deep breath and plunged into unknown waters.

“I'm sorry about Vicki, Uncle Bob. And I wish I could have helped her. One of the kids at school said she was very depressed.”

“She was.” Uncle Bob didn't look angry anymore. He just looked sad. “We tried to help, but she didn't seem to want to talk about what was bothering her. It got so bad, we even sent her to see a psychiatrist, but she wouldn't talk to him, either. And now we'll never know what was wrong.”

Julie sighed. It was now or never. She' simply had to ask. “Uncle Bob?”

“Yes!!”

“I don't want to bring up anything that might hurt you, but something's been bothering me. My mother told me Vicki died in a car accident. Is that true?”

An expression of pain flickered across Uncle Bob's face. “Not entirely. It's true that her car went off the cliff, but . . . Caro and I are afraid she committed suicide.”

“Oh, Uncle Bob!” Julie reached out and patted his hand. “I'm so sorry. But are you sure?”

Uncle Bob nodded. “We're sure. She left a note for Caro. She said she couldn't stand it here anymore. She didn't want to hurt us, but there was no other way out.”

“But maybe it wasn't suicide. Maybe she was . . . uh . . . running away from home.”

Uncle Bob shook his head. “I really wish we could believe that. It would be a real comfort.”

“Did she have clothes in her car? Anything that might help you to believe that she was just running away?”

“Well . . . that's part of the problem, Julie.” Uncle Bob pulled up a chair and sat down. “Vicki's car burned before Sheriff Nelson could get to it. We'll never know what was inside.”

“That's too bad. Wasn't anything saved?”

“Just a few personal items she'd picked up at the drugstore that night. A new lipstick, a bottle of perfume, and a pair of designer sunglasses.”

“Designer sunglasses?” Julie looked puzzled. “Why would anyone buy a new pair of sunglasses at night, if they were planning to commit suicide before morning?”

Uncle Bob blinked. And then he stared at Julie. “I never thought of that! The note didn't really say she was planning to
kill
herself.”

Julie didn't say a word. She just let the theory take root and grow in Uncle Bob's mind. It took a few moments, but then he turned to her again.

“But why would she run away? We gave Vicki everything she wanted.”

“Maybe she was just going off on her own to think things over. You said she was depressed. She could have planned to come back home when she'd worked out her problems.”

“I suppose that's possible.” Uncle Bob looked thoughtful. “Thank you, Julie. I'll mention this to Caro tonight. It might make her feel better. It's been a rough year for us, searching our memories, trying to figure out what made Vicki decide to kill herself.”

Julie nodded. “I'm sorry, Uncle Bob. It must have been awful for both of you.”

Uncle Bob got up. He walked toward the door, and then he turned again. “Julie? Please don't mention this to anyone else. It would only hurt Caro. There's been too much gossip and speculation around here, and I don't want to upset her again.”

“Don't worry, Uncle Bob. I won't say a word.”

“Good.” Uncle Bob nodded. “And if you ever want to talk about Vicki again, come to me. Don't talk to Caro. She's still . . . well . . . I really thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown, and she's still very close to the edge. I don't think she could bear it if you tried to talk about Vicki.”

“I understand.” Julie gave him a sympathetic smile, but she was puzzled as she watched him leave. Aunt Caroline had talked about Vicki that first night when she'd given her the sweaters and skirts. And she certainly hadn't seemed close to a nervous breakdown.

Three calls came in before Julie had a chance to lift the cover on the platter, but when she did, she smiled happily. Mrs. Robinson had sent her a plate of prime rib, and it looked delicious. There was a Caesar salad, a baked potato with sour cream and chives, and even Yorkshire pudding. It was a feast.

Julie lifted the cover on the last dish. Mrs. Robinson's pineapple custard. Then she noticed that an envelope was tucked under the dish. she opened it, and a tiny pair of gold, heart-shaped earrings fell out. There was a note, and Julie read it quickly.

The earrings were beautiful, and Julie slipped them on. Then she thought about what Uncle Bob had told her and frowned. He'd said it disturbed Aunt Caroline to talk about Vicki. But she'd mentioned Vicki in the note!

Was Uncle Bob lying? Or was he simply being overprotective of his wife? Julie wasn't sure. But she'd promised not to talk about Vicki with Aunt Caroline, and she wouldn't. Perhaps Uncle Bob was right. After all, he knew Aunt Caroline a lot better than she did.

 

“Julie! Nice sweater!” Ryan Stratford strode across the lobby and leaned over the desk. “Where's the old man? I've got a message for him.”

Could Uncle Bob have been right? Was her sweater too tight? Julie felt a blush rise to her cheeks and hoped she wasn't turning the same color as her sweater. “Your father's in the private dining room. Through the restaurant and . . .”

“Never mind.” Ryan interrupted her. “I know the way. You know, I think you look even better than Vicki did in a sweater. She wore them so tight, it left absolutely nothing to the imagination . . . not that anybody could have imagined anything better than what she had, but I like your understated look better.”

Julie just nodded. She didn't want to discuss her sweater with Ryan, but he had brought up Vicki, and there were some questions she wanted to ask. “You knew Vicki pretty well, didn't you, Ryan?”

“I guess so.” Ryan shrugged. “Why?”

“I . . . well . . . I was just wondering if you knew why she was so depressed.”

“Why do you care?” Ryan shrugged again. “She's dead.”

Suddenly Julie's temper flared. It was clear Ryan hadn't cared a bit for Vicki. If he had, he couldn't be so callous. “I care because she was my cousin! And I'm living here with her mother and father, practically in her shadow. I need to know what happened to her!”

“Hey . . . take it easy!” Ryan grinned. “I can see where you're coming from. Everybody says you're just like Vicki, and you don't want to make the same mistakes and wind up like she did, right?”

Julie nodded, even though that particular reason had never occurred to her. “So are you going to tell me about her?”

“Sure.” Ryan hoisted himself up on the desk and gazed down into Julie's eyes. He was so close, she could see the amber flecks in his deep gray eyes. “The rumor is, your cousin slept around . . . a lot. Maybe she inherited her wild streak from your uncle.”

Julie winced. She didn't like gossip, but she had to ask. “What do you mean?”

“Your uncle had a mistress for years. Everybody knew about it except your aunt.”

“I don't believe it!”

Ryan shrugged. “I'm just telling you what I heard. You asked, remember?”

“All right. I
did
ask. But you're just repeating gossip.”

“Maybe. And maybe not.” Ryan gave her a lazy grin. “What time do you get off work?”

“Nine o'clock. Why?”

“Meet me by the stone archway at nine-thirty, and I'll tell you everything I know.” Ryan tipped her chin up and touched her upper lip with his finger. “And believe me, Julie . . . I know plenty about your cousin.”

“I'm sure you do. And what you don't know, you'll make up. Forget it, Ryan—I'm not interested in your kind of dirt.”

Ryan laughed as Julie glared at him. Then he hopped off the desk and started for the door. When he got there, he turned and grinned that lazy grin again.

“Goodbye, Julie. It's really too bad you don't take after your cousin. We could have had a really good time.”

 

It was almost eleven by the time Julie was ready to go up to her room. She'd finished her shift on the switchboard at nine, spent some time talking to Dave and Gina, and helped Mrs. Robinson carry trays of leftovers to the walk-in refrigerator in the kitchen.

Julie stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. The doors were just closing when she spotted Ross hurrying down the hall, and she reached out to hold the doors for him.

“Thanks.” Ross stepped in, but his smile turned into a frown as he glanced at Julie.

Julie sighed. “It's perfectly safe, Ross. I don't bite.”

“Sorry.” Ross grinned, and looked a little sheepish. “I wasn't frowning at you, Julie. I just . . . uh . . . it's those earrings. Vicki had a pair just like them.”

“These
are
Vicki's earrings. Aunt Caroline gave them to me tonight. You're the only one who noticed.”

Ross sighed. “That's because I gave them to Vicki.”

“You did?” Now it was Julie's turn to look embarrassed. She reached up, took off the earrings, and handed them to him. “Here. You'd better take them back. I didn't realize Aunt Caroline had given me someone else's gift.”

Ross waved her hand away. “No, you keep them. It's okay, Julie. And your aunt didn't know I bought them for her. I didn't put my name on the tag. It just said,
From Santa.”

“They were a Christmas present?”

Ross nodded. “It was my first Christmas with the Hudsons and I bought presents for all of them. The earrings for Vicki, gloves for Mr. Hudson, and a scarf for Mrs. Hudson. I was so grateful to be included. It was almost like having a family again.”

“You don't have a family?”

“No. Not anymore. My Dad died in 'Nam. I never even knew him. And my mother . . .” Ross cleared his throat and frowned. “She died when I was a senior in high school.”

Julie felt tears gather in her eyes. She knew exactly how Ross had felt, because she had felt the same way. Her parents had been there, loving and supporting, and suddenly they were gone. It had taken her weeks to get over that horrible abandoned feeling. “I'm really sorry, Ross. It must have been awful for you.”