Broken Trust (26 page)

Abigail’s jaw went slack. “He’s quitting?”

“Yes, Mother. And you haven’t
even
noticed. Th
at
woman, Beth Ann, is his therapist.”

Abigail sat motionless for a moment and Nora peeked at
the smartphone
. It indicated another left so she headed that way.

Abigail’s eyes went soft as she thought. “You’re right. I haven’t seen him with an open beer for a long time.” She came back to the present. “He said he’s doing this for me?”

Nora nodded. “Can we get back to the drama at hand?”

Abigail kept her satisfied smile. She checked the phone. “The next house.”
Abigail had the expression of a twitterpated teenager. “Why didn’t he tell me? I would have supported him.”

Nora slowed.

Abigail pointed to a house. “This is the place.” She gave it the once over. “A bit g
a
uch
e
.”

Nora eased the Jeep to the curve in front of a huge house. The lawn, now smooth and white under the accumulat
ing
snow, yawned in a ridiculous expanse that would need
to be
watered and mowed—the opposite of sustainable. The foothills rose from behind the multi-gabled McMansion with its covered portico and two-story front windows that must accent a great room with the mother of
all
vaulted ceilings. No direct lights shone through the great room windows, only a glow cast by another room. A window inside the massive stone entryway framed a crystal chandelier.

Abigail started punching numbers into the phone. “I have to call him. Tell him I was wrong.”

A minuscule sliver of light escaped from the front door and sliced the front porch.

The door was open.

Abigail held the phone to her ear.

Nora slid from the Jeep and started up the walk.

thirty-eight

The snow eased off
but the wind continued to howl through the trees behind the Trust farmhouse. Bright moonlight reflected off the white ground, leaving Sylvia’s footprints visible.

Sylvia huddled at the edge of the back
yard under an evergreen shrub. Her feet felt damp in her fur-topped boots. She’d broken a heel in her flight down the back porch stairs.

She strained to see though the darkened windows inside the house. Where was Juan? He must be hunting for her. He’d be skulking around the dark building, stopping to listen.

The rumble of boards on the creek bridge sounded like machine gun fire. She barely heard the purr of a car engine but seconds later a car door slammed. More of Eduardo’s thugs?

Sylvia slithered from under the branches, feeling them claw at her smooth cheeks. She limped across the yard, staying close to the outer edge
under
the tree
branches to avoid leaving footprints
. With a burst, she scurried toward the farmhouse and hugged the wall, where no one inside could see her from a window.

She peeked around the edge of the house to the parking lot. The Town
C
ar still sat in the lot with a smattering of snow on the roof. Daniel’s Prius
was
parked next to it. Sylvia’s Ferrari was hidden on the far side of the Town
C
ar
—s
he couldn’t get to it without running in full sight.

Pounding and what sounded like a scuffle erupted on the front porch out of Sylvia’s view. Male voices rose in anger. Juan slid out from the front of the house on the slick grass as if he’d been pushed. He fell to his knees.

Daniel strode after him. He fired off a rapid string of Spanish and advanced on Juan.

Juan scrambled to his feet and hurried to his Town
C
ar. He turned and shouted at Daniel, throwing up his hands. He yanked open the door of his car and jumped inside. In a matter of seconds he gunned the engine and spun out of the parking lot.
The car
fishtailed and banged a back fender on the bridge before he accelerated down the highway.

Sylvia ran from hiding. “Daniel!”

He watched her.

When she grew close enough, she launched herself into his arms. “You’ve saved me. I knew you’d come.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs and across the front porch. He shoved her inside and slammed the door. “Tell me now, Sylvia. What are you doing? Why did
my father
send Juan?”

Why was he being so rough? She settled herself and brushed her fingers through her hair. She sidled to him and ran her hand
up
his chest under the leather of his jacket. “Don’t be grouchy. You’re going to love me when I tell you.”

He pushed her hand away. “Tell me.”

She rose on her toes and slipped her tongue
to
his cold lips. “I did it for you.”

“For god’s sake, Sylvia. Get away from me.”

Why was he acting like this? “I set it in motion, Daniel. Like you wanted me to. Like Eduardo demanded.”

His face froze. “What did you do?”

She smiled and reached for his hand. “Come, I’ll show you.”

thirty-nine

This is not a
good
idea.

In fact, it could be one of her worst. That didn’t stop Nora from climbing the stone steps on
Sylvia’s
front porch and approaching the open door. Wind whipped her hair and stung her ears and her hiking boots left waffles in the snow on the walk.

Abbey stayed close on her heels. She should probably have left him in the car with Abigail but she didn’t mind the four-legged dose of courage at her side.

Nora rang the doorbell. She didn’t expect anyone to answer and they didn’t.

She pushed the door open and stood outside. “Hello!”

Silence.

She should call the cops. Tell them Petal had gone missing. And that Sylvia was involved in a mysterious and deadly venture involving Tesla towers and dead birds, and the powerful people Sylvia worked for would kill Petal if the police didn’t intervene.

They’d have no trouble believing that.

Abbey trotted in front of her, leaving
wet
paw prints on the marble foyer.

A wide staircase to the right of the entryway swept to the second floor. The curved wood railing shone with polish in the light from the foyer. Splashes of bright oranges, blues
,
and reds blazed from abstract oil paintings on the wall.

Abbey’s claws clicked on the marble and his breath sounded like an elephant snuffle as he sniffed the floor.

“Hello?” she said again. Silence in a house this size was a big si
lence.

Directly in front of them, the marble of the foyer gave way to a white-carpeted sitting room. A baby grand piano left room for two white upholstered chairs. The night darkened the other side of a floor
-
to
-
ceiling window.

Nora chose to head left down a short hallway. It opened onto
a
great room facing away from the street.

She stepped around a stone pillar and Nora nearly gasped at the expanse and opulence. Down three steps that ran the length of the room and across the wide space covered with impossibly thick white carpet, floor
-
to
-
cathedral
-
ceiling windows faced the Flatirons. In the daytime, the view would be breathtaking. Tonight, with snow swirling outside,
it
was merely spectacular. A huge stone fireplace occupied one whole wall and several white couches and chairs made up a couple of conversation areas. It resembled the lobby of a posh hotel more than a real person’s living room.

How often did Sylvia entertain? Nora couldn’t imagine one person wanting to spend time with Sylvia, let alone a team large enough to make this room practical.

“She’s not much for color.”

Nora gasped and whirled around at the sound.

Snap
. The room burst into light and Abigail adjusted the dimmer from spotlight to natural. She stepped from behind a pillar and surveyed the room from the top stair, hands on her hips.

“My god, Mother, you scared me. I thought you were in the Jeep talking to Charlie.”

Abigail waved her hand. “A phone only works when you turn it on. I can’t make him understand that. I left some voic
e-mail
s but I don’t think he knows how to retrieve them.”

Nora gazed out the tall windows at the swirling snow. Petal might be out there.

“Did you see that chandelier in the entryway?” Abigail asked, disgust ringing her words.

The fireplace gaped at Nora as if waiting for a sacrifice. “I didn’t pay any attention.”

Abigail loved to tour houses. She wasn’t shy about giving her decorating opinions. “It’s ostentatious. The entryway calls for something smaller and more tasteful. Th
is place
reeks of new money.”

As if Abigail came from a long line of aristocrats. She’d grown up in Nebraska and only later married money. Lots of it. Mostly gone now.

Nora started for the stairs. “We shouldn’t be here. I think it’s breaking and entering.”

Abigail scrutinized the room. “Nonsense. The door was wide open. As friends
,
we’re obligated to check things out and make sure Sylvia is all right.”

“Friends?”

“Small detail,” Abigail said and descended the stairs. “The carpet is a nice weave but the white is much too risky if you want to actually live in your home.”

“This is a bad idea,” Nora said to Abbey.

“It’s too stark with all this white. Although I do appreciate the natural elements of the stone. And, oh Nora, look at those beams. Those are very nice. I can’t identify the wood. Not pine.”

Who cared? Nora gave up the sane notion of high-tailing it out of there and advanced on a bookshelf inset into the wall opposite the fireplace. Framed photos sat amid glass sculptures. Compared to the sharp angles and abstract contemporary art on the walls, the frames
fairly
twisted in ornate gilt
gold.

Abigail stood in front of one of the furniture groupings assessing the accent pillows. Abbey plopped down and rested his head on his paws.

The photos mostly showed professional studio shots of Sylvia. From the headshots at various angles and the posed casuals, it seemed Sylvia loved playing fashion model. There were
only
a few photos not done with the intent of making Sylvia gorgeous.

Abigail abruptly walked from the furniture to the fireplace. “This room is a mosh-posh of mixed styles. Most unsettling.”

“Shhhh.” Nora cocked her head. “Do you hear anything?”

Abigail paused a moment. “No. You’re letting your imagin
ation
loose again.”

Nora turned back to the photos
.
Abigail
joined her
and
peer
ed
over her shoulder.

Abigail pointed to a picture. “What about this?” Sylvia stood next to a dark-haired, older
,
and more
-
worn version of herself. An awkward girl of about thirteen stood in front of the two women,
shooting a cheesy grin at the camera. From the high-wasted slacks and style of the jacket, the picture must have been taken twenty years ago.

Nora studied the picture. “Must be family. At least it proves she didn’t rise from a lagoon on a dark, stormy night.”

Abigail picked it up and stared. “That little girl is Petal.”

“
Right.
Now who’s imagination is running wild?”
Nora focused on another interesting shot.

Abigail thrust the frame under Nora’s nose. “Look at it.”

Nora hadn’t seen Petal’s impish side as much as Abigail had, but the little face did bear a
kind of
resemblance to Petal in her rare happy moments. “I can see how you’d think that. But it’s a coincidence.”

Abigail pursed her lips and set the photo on the shelf.

Nora picked up the frame she’d been studying. “Whoa.” She handed Abigail the snapshot of Sylvia arm in arm, gazing adoringly at someone.

Abigail gasped. “
Tha
t’s Daniel!”

Nora pointed at the picture. “See in the background? They’re standing in front of World Petro.”

Abigail shrugged and handed it back. “She’s having an affair with that Latin lover. I knew there was something fishy about him.”

“World Petro is his father’s company.” Nora stared at the picture. “Supposedly, Daniel is trying to stop them and others from drilling for oil in the Amazon
B
asin.”

Abigail trod across the room and up the steps. “It’s shocking that a woman Sylvia’s age would cavort with someone like Daniel but it happens.”

“Cavort?” Nora set the picture down and followed Abigail.

They continued down the hall toward what appeared to be the kitchen. “You know what I mean,” Abigail said.

Nora noticed the paw prints Abbey
was leaving
on the white carpet. Sylvia wasn’t going to be pleased. “If Daniel and Sylvia are having an affair
,
why are they keeping it a secret?”

Abigail felt around on the wall of the dark kitchen. “It isn’t good policy for a board member to be sleeping with the hired help.”

If the dark, silent house weren’t so creepy, and if they weren’t breaking the law, and if she didn’t think that Petal might be in some kind of danger, she might find the idea of Sylvia being called hired help amusing.

Abigail slapped on the light to reveal a kitchen fit for
an
Iron Chef. Copper cookware hung from a rack above a center island covered with gleaming granite
and
big enough to dance a tango on. The cooktop had more burners than the Octomom had babies. Two ovens, two refrigerators, miles of counter space
,
and gadgets Nora could only guess at. If anything had been used, Nora couldn’t tell.

Abigail didn’t sound impressed. “It’s all for show. She
clearly
doesn’t cook.”

“Daniel’s been helping me to sort out the financials. If he and Sylvia are together, why would he do that?”

Abigail slapped off the light and brushed past Nora. “Maybe he’s trying to keep you from finding something that incriminates
her
.”

Could he be protecting Sylvia? But if he loved her, why didn’t he just give her $400,000? For someone with his resources, that wouldn’t be much.

Next up was the dining room. Abigail found a dimmer switch and turned it up. “Oh my. My oh my.”

The dining room table was a mass of wrought iron and glass. The chairs twisted in bizarre shapes like torture devices. Dinner in this room would be about as much fun as an evening in the dungeons of the Spanish Inquisition.

Abigail tsked. “I suppose Sylvia thinks this passes for art. She’s obviously trying too hard.”

“Petal said Sylvia worked for someone powerful. With World Petro behind him, Daniel is certainly powerful.”

Abigail stared at the dining table as if considering how to destroy it. “The only thing worth keeping in this room is the chandelier. That’s
quite
lovely
, actually
.”
She
brushed her hands as if to get rid of the room and strode down the hall. “Let’s
go
check upstairs.”

“No,” Nora said. “This has gone too far already.”

Abigail waved her off. “We need to make sure Petal isn’t hiding up there. Besides, I want to see the bedrooms.”

“Big mistake,” Nora grumbled to Abbey. He sat in the foyer watching her.

Abigail trotted up the stairs, scowling at the abstract oil paintings and shaking her head. She reached the landing halfway up and her phone jangled.

Abigail held it up and frowned. “Why is Cole calling me?” She answered and her face lit up like Rockefeller Center on Christmas Eve. She pulled the phone away and said to Nora, “My knight in shining armor. His battery died but he was
desperate
to talk to me.” She turned her back on Nora and spoke into the phone. “I’m so sorry!”

Nora stopped several steps down. Abbey hadn’t moved.

“Just a minute, dear.” Abigail pulled the phone from her ear. “I need to take this in priva
te
. You check upstairs and I’ll wait for you in the Jeep.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Abigail lowered her eyebrows. “Private conversation
, Nora
.” She skipped down the stairs, knocking Nora to the wall.

Nora watched Abigail hurry outside. Abbey sat at the base of the stairs. Once more Nora eyed the front door and escape. “Did I mention what a mistake this is?”
she
said to Abbey.
The golden retriever wisely kept his own counsel.
She climbed the stairs, feeling the weight of the silence grow more dense with each step. “Abbey, come.”

Abbey gave her
his
I-don’t-wanna attitude.

“Stop being lazy,” Nora said. “Come.”

Reluctantly, he got to his feet and climbed after her.

A strange odor crept into her nostrils like a hairy caterpillar. Was Sylvia’s toilet clogged? But no, it didn’t smell like bad sewer. Whatever it was,
though,
it stunk.

Maybe that black thing on the floor? No, that was a smashed smartphone. Creepy.
The hallway ran the length of the foyer, looking down on the chandelier—now that Nora noticed,
the room
really was gaudy. To the right a few doors opened onto dark rooms.

The slightly worn path in the thick pile led to the left.
Must be the
master bedroom.

Nora leaned down and scratched Abbey’s head.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.
And yet, her feet carried her down the hall, however slowly.

The stench was like thick Yuck Chowder.

Nora glanced behind her to make sure Abbey
was following close behind
.

She snaked her hand around the wall to the dark room and felt for the light.