April of Enchantment (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (15 page)

Laura moved down the hallway inside, glancing into the rooms. They were empty. The men were at work putting the finishing touches on the kitchen wing today. She turned into the dining room, crossing to the connecting pantry with its pass-through, shelves for silver and china, and small sink. Stepping through its narrow width, she came out in the kitchen, her rubber-soled sneakers making only a slight sound on the brick floor. The men looked up, greeting her with easy friendliness. There was a question of where the wrought-iron strap hinges and pulls should be placed on the cypress cabinets when the glaze they were applying had dried. When the question had been answered, she retraced her footsteps back to the hallway.

It was then that Myra came down the stairs from the upper floor. One hand was pushed into the pocket of her mink jacket, the other clutching the strap of her shoulder bag. Her red lips were set in a straight line, and the look in her green eyes was hard.

“Good morning,” Laura said in an attempt at pleasantness. “Justin has already gone.”

“I know,” the other woman replied, an edge to her tone. “I drove him out here myself, so he could pick up his car. I was a little worried when he didn’t come back to town last night or answer my ring, so I ran down this morning to see what was the problem.”

“Is there something I can do for you, then?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Myra said, rounding the newel post and sauntering toward her. “I’ve been refreshing my memory of the layout of the bedrooms, particularly the master bedroom, and waiting for you. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming, but then, you had a somewhat tiring evening, I understand.”

“If you mean the storm, I don’t think it was tiring, exactly,” Laura said, her tone wary.

“Exciting, then, or maybe a little frightening?”

“Not really.”

“Of course not, how silly of me,” Myra exclaimed. “You had Justin with you, didn’t you? I wonder how you managed that?”

“I didn’t manage it at all. It just — happened.”

“You were looking at the antiques, weren’t you, and failed to see the storm come up. Funny, I didn’t see anything that interesting about them.”

“It all depends on your outlook, I expect.”

“Possibly. Or how good you are at pretending.”

Laura stared at the other woman. “What are you suggesting?”

“Oh, I’m not suggesting anything,” Myra said with a careless shrug. “I’m only trying to understand how it came about that you spent half the night with my fiancé here in the dark.”

“It wasn’t half the night. It was only two or three hours at the most. As for how it happened, surely Justin told you.”

“He did, yes, but I would like to hear what you have to say.”

Anger stirred inside Laura. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Why? Don’t you trust him?”

The other woman flushed, a sparkle of rage in her eyes. “I think you know the answer to that one, but I’ll tell you anyway. It’s you I don’t trust!”

“I’m sorry about that, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m only trying to do my job and complete it in the least possible amount of time.”

“That’s something I can applaud anyway,” Myra snapped.

“Fine. Then, if you don’t mind, I will get on with it.”

“Just a minute,” Myra said as Laura began to turn away. “I believe Justin has given you the go-ahead to furnish this house.”

“Yes?” There was no relenting in the violet glance Laura gave the other woman.

“I had a few ideas I want to discuss with you on that subject, since this is going to be my house.”

It was too reasonable to be denied, the situation being what it was. “Certainly.”

“If you will get your portfolio of ideas and color combinations together, I will go over them with you. I’m sure that together we can come up with something outstanding, now that the background is nearly in place here, a mixture of styles that will be appropriate, but not too deadly dull.”

It would be better not to argue with the woman now. In any case, Myra did not wait for her answer but swung around and clicked away down the hall as if suddenly eager to get away. Laura stared after her for long moments, then with a shake of her head, went about her work.

It was an uneventful day. Laura took a polyester cast of one of the moldings in an upstairs bedroom and completed her chart of color schemes using the Historic Charleston colors. She also made out an order for wallpapers from two of the companies specializing in documentary wall coverings. In order to get the order off in the mail that afternoon, she decided to leave a little early. It could help to have this much done, to be able to say to Myra that the plans for certain rooms could not be changed without expense since the paper for the walls was already on its way.

During the confusion the night before, when Russ had come for Justin and herself, she had left her tote bag at the house, its contents tumbled over the floor in the hallway. She had stopped during the morning to pick up the mess, pushing it any way into the canvas carryall, her mind on something else entirely. Now, as she was ready to leave, she picked up the tote, pushed her charts and order forms down into it, and started out the door. It felt a fraction lighter than usual to her somehow, but she thought little of it until she had opened the door of her car and flung it onto the front seat.

A small frown drew her brows together as she looked for her car keys. She did not remember seeing the diary when she had picked everything up. It wasn’t a heavy book, and yet it wasn’t light either. Its leather covers were bound in brass, with a filigree brass backplate, and the pages were heavy vellum.

It was not there. Though she dumped everything onto the seat — note pads and pencils, rulers, charts, booklets, a battery-operated calculator, an extra-long measuring tape, and a dozen other things — it was not to be found. Someone had taken it.

Seven

Laura waited until her temper had cooled, until she had reached home and had dinner. Then with deliberation, she dialed the number of Justin’s home phone. It rang with a sharp, clear tone, sounding again and again. She hung up and waited an hour before she tried again. Still no answer.

There were two people who could have taken the diary. Her lips tight, Laura thought of calling Myra. No, there was antagonism enough between them without Laura accusing her of being a thief before she was certain the most likely suspect was free of blame.

Why had he done it? He was curious, she knew, but after their conversation the evening before, she would have let him read the diary if he had asked. She wasn’t totally unreasonable. Perhaps she should have offered before now to let him see it. It was no great thing, after all. Still, the longer she waited, the more suspect became her reason for refusing. He would not have been human if he hadn’t tried to find out what she was trying to hide, and why. Hindsight was no great help, but it would have been much better, all things considered, if she had simply made a photocopy of the old volume and handed it over to him in the beginning.

The deed was done now. Her greatest worry, or so she told herself, was to have the diary back in one piece. It was old and fragile. There was little possibility of damage as long as it was closed; the brass-bound edges protected it. But the pages had to be turned with care.

As he had promised, Russ called that evening. They talked for some time about one thing and another. The temperature had risen enough during the day to make staying in the drafty hall where the phone was located no hardship. Laura enjoyed Russ’s uncomplicated personality and good-natured banter. When he asked her to go with him into Baton Rouge the next evening for dinner and a play, she agreed. It was time she began to take an active interest in something besides Crapemyrtle. The project would be over before much longer. The block of time it had occupied in her schedule would be empty, and she was going to have to find something else to fill the void. When Russ hung up finally, Laura tried Justin’s number once more. There was still no answer.

For the first time since the restoration had started, Laura found herself dreading going out to the house the next morning. She was half afraid Justin might be there, half afraid he would not. She didn’t want to face him, and yet she hoped he was the one who had the diary; at least he could be trusted to take care of it. It crossed her mind to try phoning him before breakfast. The time was never quite right, however. She had been ready and willing to give him a piece of her mind the night before, but now that he might have had time to read the diary, she was no longer so eager to discuss it.

She need not have worried. Justin was not on the premises at Crapemyrtle, nor did she see him during the day. It was Myra who showed up as the carpenters were putting away their tools and the painters cleaning their brushes preparing to leave.

Laura had been supervising the installation of the new medallion in the second of the double parlors. She invited Justin’s fiancée to look at the job, an excellent reproduction of the original plaster piece in the first parlor.

Myra craned her neck backward to glance at it. Her tone perfunctory, she said, “Very nice. I wonder, Laura, if there is a place where we could talk?”

“Did you want to see the design and color charts?” Laura looked around for her tote. She had been so upset the evening before she had forgotten to mail off the order she had made out for wall coverings, but it could not be helped.

“I don’t think so, not just now.”

Laura led the way from the parlor. On impulse, she turned down the hallway, pushing through the double doors that gave onto the back loggia. She moved to the railing that enclosed it, and placing her hands on the banister, breathed deep of the fresh air scented with the fragrance of green growing things. Alertness in the depths of her violet eyes, she turned to face the other woman, waiting for her to speak.

Myra glanced at the doors that had been left standing open, then with a small shrug moved to where several two-by-fours had been left lying across a pair of sawhorses. Brushing at the boards with her hand, she seated herself. She looked up, giving Laura a cool smile. “You seem to be coming along nicely with the house.”

The other woman’s conversational tone was a surprise, though Laura refused to allow herself to show it. “We’re beginning to make a little headway, after all the weeks of preparation.”

“How much longer do you think it will be before Justin can move in?”

“A month, six weeks, by the end of April at the latest,” Laura answered after doing a few quick calculations in her head.

“We will have to have a party to celebrate, a big blowout, bigger than any this town has ever seen.”

“What about the wedding?”

Myra stared at her. “The wedding?”

“It’s none of my business, of course,” Laura said, “but I understood the house was to be ready before June, in time for your marriage. I assumed you would want to have the ceremony performed here, since Crapemyrtle is such a perfect setting for it.”

A calculating expression rose in Myra’s green eyes along with a glint of something that might have been surprise. Lowering her mascaraed lashes, she said, “It is a nice setting, but I don’t know. The house isn’t very big, not when it comes to something like that. I think I would prefer to be married from a church in the city, with the reception at either the country club or one of the big hotels.”

“It’s your wedding.” Laura could not prevent the coolness in her tone. How any woman could resist the prospect of coming down the stairs of Crapemyrtle in her wedding gown was more than she could see.

“Yes, it is.” Myra agreed with more emphasis than was necessary. “And I intend to do it right. My father has thousands of friends; the wealthiest men, the most respected politicians in the state, even the governor himself, will be there. Dad will want to show me off to every one of them. He is a darling man, and he always wants the best, especially when it comes to his daughter. He has always said he wouldn’t give me away to just any man, but he is proud of Justin. He looks on him as a son, and has for years. It was my father, you know, who gave him his start in business, and to give him credit, Justin has never forgotten it.”

“So I understand.” Laura’s words were clipped. Somehow she did not care to hear the details of Myra’s relationship with Justin.

“Is that so?” Myra asked. “Who can have told you?”

“I believe Russ Masters mentioned it.”