Aquamarine (8 page)

He touched her cheek fleetingly, then, grasping her chin, turned her face up toward his.

She licked her lips and smiled lazily. “Your chin feels like sandpaper,” she said. “Must be a full moon.”

“What?” His muscles went rigid beneath her hands. His expression tautened with suspicion. “
What
did you say?”

Shea raised an eyebrow at the harshness of his tone. “Just that your chin was scratchy. It’s no big deal, nothing to get in a huff over. The truth is, stubble looks a lot sexier than it feels.”

“No,” he said. “The exact words. What were your exact words?” He held her close, but it wasn’t a lover’s embrace.

Shea was confused and a little nervous. What was going on? What had she said to spark such an emotional reaction? She searched her memory, but her exact words eluded her. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Teague’s face frightened her. The remnants of arousal were mixed with some darker emotion she neither recognized nor understood. At that moment, he seemed capable of anything.

“‘Must be a full moon.’ “His voice was raw, as if his words bled from a mortal wound. “That’s how Kirsten explained my stubble. She used to joke that I was descended from a long line of werewolves.”

Shea stiffened. She drew a deep breath, but it didn’t help. “Damn you, Teague Harris. Damn you. I am
not
Kirsten. It was a stupid coincidence. That’s all.”

Her eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration. Why did he have so much trouble accepting the fact that she wasn’t Kirsten?
Because, you fool, Kirsten’s the one he wants
.

“I’m sorry, Shea. Don’t cry.”

She jerked away from him. “I’m mad, dammit, and I’ll cry if I want to.” Like that old Lesley Gore record of her mother’s, she thought, and nearly choked on a sudden spurt of involuntary laughter.

God, she must be hysterical, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” Teague said again, the way men always do when women start crying and they don’t exactly know why but figure it can’t hurt to apologize.

Me too
, she thought, disappointment a bitter taste at the back of her throat.

Shea staggered down the attic stairs, balancing a stack of heavy photo albums, her third load—in case anyone was counting—and her last, thank goodness. Her poor arms felt as if they were about to rip loose from their sockets, and she was heartily sorry she’d ever fallen in with Cynthia’s suggestion that she look through family photographs “to fill in the gaps in her memory.”

“Watch out for that bottom step, Miss Kirsten,” Glory warned. “Tread’s got a wiggle in it.”

“I remember,” Shea said. How could she forget after the header she’d taken on her first trip down?

Despite the fact that she was hefting a load every bit as awkward and heavy as Shea’s, Glory set a killing pace along the second-story hall.

“Slow down!” Shea begged, panting like the star pupil in a Lamaze class.

“Sorry.” Smiling sheepishly, Glory paused outside Kirsten’s bedroom door and waited for Shea to catch up.

As Shea drew even with the girl, she became aware of a low hum. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“The humming sound. Can’t you hear it?”

“I don’t hear anything.” Glory’s face was empty of expression. Too empty.

“It’s coming from my old room, I think.” Shea set her load down on the floor and pressed her ear to the door. The humming stopped. “Could someone be inside? Maybe your mother is vacuuming.”

“I was in there first thing this morning, washing the dormer windows,” Glory admitted cautiously, “but nobody’s inside now. Couldn’t be. I locked up afterward. The key’s in my pocket.”

“Maybe you left something on. The stereo or a radio.”

“Didn’t turn anything on. Not even the lights.” She cocked her head to listen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Kirsten. I can’t hear a thing.”

The humming resumed as abruptly as it had stopped, a little louder this time. “There!” Shea said. “Don’t tell me you can’t hear that.”

Glory shrugged, and the top album slid off her pile to land with a thump on the floor.

Shea started to lean over to pick it up, then froze as a second noise drowned out the low hum, a piteous whine followed by whimpering sobs. She straightened with a jerk. “My God! I suppose you didn’t hear that, either.”

Glory’s face was pasty. “Sounds like a baby,” she whispered.

A baby? Or the ghost of a baby? Shea tensed, listening intently.

The whimpers escalated to an eldritch howling ac
companied by a series of loud thumps and frantic scratching noises. “No,” she said, relieved. “It sounds like a dog.”

A door farther along the hall banged open and Kevin Rainey strode out wearing nothing but a worried expression and a pair of blue silk boxers. “What on earth is that ungodly noise?”

“I think Beelzebub got locked inside”—Kirsten’s room, Shea almost said but caught herself in time—“my room.”

Glory’s chagrin was painful to see. “He must have sneaked in behind my back when I was washing windows.”

Another tremendous thump shook the door. Beelzebub howled like a tormented lost soul.

Kevin frowned. “I don’t get it. You’re back, Kirsten. So why’s your room still locked?”

“Been locked for seven years. Mr. Jack’s orders. Mama says until he tells us otherwise …” Glory stared at the floor.

The dog howled.

“Jeez, poor old Bub sounds like he’s in pain. Which he will be, if we don’t get him out of there before Ruth comes up to check out the racket. Where’s the key?”

Glory dug a key ring from her pocket and passed it to Kevin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is all my fault.” She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears.

Kevin patted her shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Glo. It’s not that big a deal.”

“No, but you know what Mama’s like.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I do.” He opened the door, releasing the frantic dog, who headed toward the stairs at
top speed, spinning his wheels on the slippery wooden floor.

“W-wait!” Glory stammered as he started to close the door. “Bub likes to hide under Miss Kirsten’s bed.”

“Gotcha.” Kevin nodded. “And you’re afraid he left one of his treasures behind.”

“It’s the thing Mama hates most about him. He left a dead bird under the dining-room table yesterday.” She shuddered. “Before you lock up, let me check for hidden treasure.”

“Go for it.” He stood aside.

Glory scuttled around him, knelt by the bed, and peeked beneath the bedskirt. “Ugh!” She backed away with a shudder.

“What?” Kevin demanded.

“Dead snake?” Shea guessed, gauging the degree of the girl’s revulsion.

“No.” Glory shuddered again. “It’s a b-bone. A b-big bone.”

Kevin gave her arm a squeeze. “I’ll dispose of it if you lock up.” He flipped Glory the keys. “Bones don’t bother me.” He retrieved the macabre object and took off toward the stairs, moving almost as quickly as the dog had.

Glory stared after him.

“There’s one mystery solved,” Shea said.

“Mystery?” Glory asked.

“The noise. You know, you almost had me convinced I was imagining it.” Shea picked up her stack of photo albums, straightening just in time to catch an unguarded expression on Glory’s face. The girl looked uneasy, almost scared. And no wonder, the way her mother overreacted to every minor peccadillo. “It was an accident,
the dog getting locked in that way,” Shea reassured her. “Could have happened to anyone. I won’t tell your mother, and I know Kevin won’t, either.”

Shea had been holed up in the family room looking through photos for over two hours when Kevin strolled in. “Having fun?” he asked. His grin was infectious.

Shea grinned back. “A thrill a minute.”

He flopped down on the sofa, kicking a couple of needlepoint pillows aside to accommodate his feet.

“You’re going to get the furniture dirty.” The treads of his size-thirteen running shoes were full of mud.

“That’s why we pay Ruth an exorbitant salary.” He leaned back against the sofa cushions, lacing his hands behind his head. A slight smile curved his mouth as he studied her. “Tell me, when are you planning to move back in with Teague?”

She arched an eyebrow and gazed at him in silence for a full ten-count. “Why? Do you have money riding on it?”

Surprise flickered across his face, followed by reluctant admiration. “As a matter of fact, I do. They’re placing bets down at the club. Almost three thousand bucks in the pot. Can’t blame me for trying to get some inside info, can you?”

“If I were you, I’d save my money. No guarantees Teague and I will ever get back together.”

He looked up with a devilish grin. “Don’t give me that. I saw the way he looks at you.”

How
does
he look at me? she wanted to ask.

Instead she passed him a snapshot. “Any idea who these people are?”

Kevin took the photograph but instead of examining it, stared fixedly at her left hand.

“What?” she asked.

“Where’s your ring?”

“My ring?”

“Your engagement ring.” He captured her bare left hand. “That huge square-cut aquamarine surrounded by diamonds and set in platinum. You never took it off, not even after the knock-down, drag-out you and Teague had. Don’t tell me the kidnappers stole it.”

The back of her neck prickled. She shrugged, feigning unconcern. “They must have.” She tugged her hand free and tapped the photograph. It showed a man and two women standing next to a palm tree in front of a big stucco building. “Recognize these people?”

Kevin shrugged. “The guy’s Dad and I think the woman on the right is Elizabeth, his first wife. Your mother,” he added, giving her a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “But I don’t recognize the blonde in the middle.”

Cynthia came in with another armload of albums. “I found these stuck in one of the bookcases in Jack’s room,” she said.

“Hey, Mom, do you know who this is?” Kevin held the photo of Jack, Elizabeth, and the mystery woman out to Cynthia.

“No feet on the furniture,” she said automatically as she took the picture. “How did you get so muddy just running across to the post office?”

“I have an affinity for dirt,” he said with an impudent grin, but he did sit up and prop his feet on the coffee table.

Cynthia frowned. “Brat.”

“But you’re crazy about me, huh? Admit it. I’m your favorite.”

Cynthia fought to maintain a stern demeanor, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I doubt Ruth shares my weakness. Go change your shoes before she throws a tantrum.”

Kevin stood with exaggerated courtesy, then swept a courtly bow made only slightly ludicrous by his shorts and polo shirt. When a guy looked like Prince Charming, he could get away with a lot. “Okay, Mommy dearest. Help Kirsten identify the people in that picture, will you?”

He left, and Cynthia took his place on the sofa. “This is Jack and Elizabeth. I don’t know who the other woman is, but judging by the clothing and hairstyles, I’d say the snapshot was taken in the early seventies. And not around here. California maybe?” She frowned. “The odd part is, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this picture before. In fact, I’ve never seen this album before. Must be one of your mother’s. Where did you find it?” Cynthia turned to her with a questioning look.

“The attic.”

Cynthia nodded, then shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry I can’t be any more help. Jack might know. You could ask him.”

Shea shook her head. “It’s not important,” she lied. The truth was, she recognized the blonde. She’d know her mother anywhere—even wearing sunglasses, bell-bottoms, and hair to her waist.

“Are you ready for a break?” Cynthia asked. “Your father’d like to talk to you.”

Jack Rainey seemed a little more alert than he had the day before. He greeted Shea with a smile as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi yourself, baby. Cynthia said you’ve been looking through old photographs. Did anything trigger your memory?” He waved her toward a chair by the bed.

She sat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, fidgeting with her shirttail. “Not my memory, no. Just my curiosity.” She passed him the photograph of her mother standing between him and his wife. “Who’s the woman in the middle? Neither Kevin nor Cynthia recognized her.”

Jack’s expression stilled for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Nobody special,” he said. “One of your mother’s friends. I don’t recall her name.”

Nobody special? I don’t recall her name? Liar
, she thought, bitterness like a sour taste in her mouth.

“Is something wrong?”

Despite his illness, Jack Rainey’s mental faculties were sharp. She forced a smile. “Nothing,” she said, proving that she could lie as well as he.

“Has Cynthia talked to you yet about moving back home?”

She nodded. “She brought it up, but …” She shrugged. “Daddy, I’ve been Shea McKenzie for so long. Yes, the memories of my old life are coming back, but I’m still more Shea than Kirsten. I need time to adjust, Daddy. Time and space.”

“But if you were here, back in your old room—” Mikey burst into the room. “Daddy, Beelzebub’s missing!”

No wonder
, thought Shea. He was probably holed up somewhere recovering from this morning’s trauma.