Hidden in a Whisper (31 page)

STILL REELING FROM THE EVENTS of the last few minutes, Braeden stared in disbelief as Reginald Worthington rushed out of the Needlemeier mansion after Rachel. Esmeralda seemed not to notice the departures as she stood staring at him, as though she expected something—perhaps a confession. But there was nothing to confess.

Ivy teetered back and forth, seeming rather pleased with herself and the events that had just taken place. Braeden was then certain beyond all doubt that he'd been set up.

“Ivy, you are positively drunk on your feet,” Esmeralda declared.

She rang for the maid and when the young girl appeared, she seemed rather frightened.

“She can vouch for the fact that I didn't ask for a drink. She told me upon instruction she was to leave a drink on the serving tray,” Braeden told the older woman.

Liza seemed to cower as Braeden stepped toward her. Esmeralda looked at the girl for a moment, then questioned, “Is that true? And if it is, exactly who instructed you to leave the drink on the tray?”

Liza glanced to Ivy, then lowered her head. “Mr. Parker told me to pour the drink.”

“That's a lie,” Braeden said, his voice low and accusing.

The girl raised her head and met his eyes. Braeden refused to go easy on her. She was clearly Ivy's accomplice, and he'd have no part of their games. Because of her and her mistress, he might have lost Rachel.

“Tell her the truth,” Braeden stated in an even tone.

“Lizzz-a al-waysss tellsss-a truth,” Ivy said, slurring her words badly. It was evident that the liquor had taken a progressive hold on the girl.

“Liza, take Miss Ivy upstairs to her room. Help her to prepare for bed and get some coffee on to boil.” Esmeralda waited sternly while the housemaid scurried to Ivy's side.

“Braeden.” Ivy murmured the name as she passed by him.

Braeden held his arms tightly to his sides, afraid that if he moved even an inch, he might throttle Ivy Brooks and force the truth from her own mouth. But once Ivy and Liza had gone from the room, Braeden shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to Esmeralda Needlemeier. “I don't know what kind of game your niece is playing, but I assure you nothing improper took place here tonight—at least not improper on my part. I received a note telling me to meet you here for some emergency meeting. I thought it rather strange, but given the nature of your demands of late,” he said in a terse manner, “I figured it was probably legitimate.”

“I sent no such note,” Esmeralda declared, unmoved by his insult.

“Well, someone did,” Braeden replied, pulling the paper from his pocket. “I have it here. It appears to be on your stationery. You will note the scrolled initials
E N
in the center.”

The old woman's face contorted. “Let me see that.” She snatched the paper from his hand as he extended it to her.

Esmeralda studied the note for several moments, then folded it and held it tightly in her gloved hand. “What happened here tonight was witnessed by two of the resort employees. Tongues will wag, no doubt, and my niece's reputation will be ruined. Despite how this event came to pass, it would be the honorable thing for you to act the part of gentleman and marry the girl.”

“It would be a false honor,” Braeden countered. “I do not love your niece, neither do I feel at all inclined to spend my life with her. She is a manipulating liar. You know it and so do I. She staged this entire thing, and if she has to suffer the consequences of not getting her way in the matter, then that is her problem.”

“If it is a matter of money …”

“It is hardly that, madam,” Braeden said, feeling his anger build. “I will not pay the price for something I had no part in. I suggest you take your niece to task for this event, perhaps even send her to some proper finishing school where she might be taught decorum and manners. No doubt she'll just try this again with some other unsuspecting fool. Now, if you'll excuse me.” He stormed out the room, barely remembering to take his hat from the table in the hallway.

“Mr. Parker, this matter is far from being settled. I will speak to my niece, but if I am not convinced of her guilt in this situation, I will send the law to speak to you on my behalf,” Esmeralda called out from behind him.

“Send anyone you choose, Mrs. Needlemeier,” Braeden said, turning to address her face-to-face. “It will not make this any more my fault than it already is, neither will it force me to marry your unruly niece. I believe you know the truth in what I'm saying. I see it in your eyes. For whatever reason you choose to maintain this stance of believing me guilty, it will not change the facts of the matter—and you know that very well.” He put his hat on his head and gave her a short bow. “Good night, Mrs. Needlemeier.”

He left the stunned old woman speechless as he raced down the porch steps, driven by the notion that somewhere Rachel was dwelling on the scene she'd just witnessed. And possibly, Reginald Worthington was offering her comfort in his arms.

Braeden slammed his fist into his hand and let out a growl of protest at this thought. The nerve of Worthington to act as Rachel's defender! Braeden had nearly knocked the man aside when he'd dared to put himself between Braeden and Rachel. As if she needed to be shielded—protected from Braeden. But when the man put his arm around Rachel, as though they were both very comfortable in such an action, Braeden had desired nothing more than to put his fist into Worthington's smug face.

He moved through the gardens and across the footbridge, knowing that if Rachel was sensible and thinking with marginal clarity, she would have made her way to the privacy of her quarters. At least he prayed that's where she might have gone. He desperately wanted to talk to her, to reassure her that he wasn't unfaithful to their love. He knew how very tender her heart was in this area, and he knew that her trust in him had cost her everything.

“It won't be her fault this time,” he muttered aloud. “If she initially believes the scene staged this night, well, who could blame her?” He knew the evidence was very damaging. He could easily imagine how the entire setup had looked to Rachel.

Grinding his teeth together, Braeden stifled the urge to ring Ivy Brooks's neck. He could still see her seductive little smile as she toyed with the bodice of her gown. She had planned it out in meticulous order. She knew when her aunt would return, and she somehow seemed to know that Rachel would return with her.

He entered Casa Grande through the back entryway, grateful that most of the hotel guests were listening to the conclusion of Miss Collins'singing program. He passed by the theatre room, where the crowd was congregated, and heard the thunderous applause as the soprano hit her final note. Picking up speed, Braeden moved down the corridor, past the intersecting hallway and the entrances to the library and dining room. All was ominously silent.

Reaching Rachel's office, he called for her first, then knocked loudly on the door. There was no response. He repeated the process two more times before deciding to go outside to see if there was any light shining in the windows of her private quarters. But when the windows only yielded darkness, Braeden found himself at yet another dead end. Glancing around the front lawns, he wondered if perhaps she had taken herself to the pools or to a quiet place to think. The gardens were full of benches for just such a purpose, and Morita Falls boasted a scenic walking path with tables for picnic luncheons.

Moving out across the lawn to where the illuminated fountain glowed in the darkness, Braeden prayed to find her—prayed that she'd be unharmed and at peace with the events of the evening. If she could only find a way to hold on to her fragile trust in him, she would recognize that he had no feelings whatsoever for Ivy Brooks—at least not feelings that entailed any warmth.

He paused beside the fountain, his reflection in the water catching his eye. He looked hard and long at himself for several moments. His anger was evident, and his eyes were dark in their fury. Forcing himself to calm down, Braeden took a deep breath and tried to formulate a plan. He couldn't just run from one end of the grounds to the other without any real purpose in mind. He should make a mental list and meticulously search from one end of the estate to the other. Time was of the utmost importance. While the days were still pleasantly warm, the nights bore a chill that could easily strike one down with illness.

Staring back at Casa Grande, Braeden watched as upper floor lights came on to indicate that the resort guests were retiring for the evening.

Soon the front lobby doors would be locked tight, and while Rachel had a key to the resort, Braeden was uncertain that it would be upon her person.

“I have to find her,” he whispered. “Please, God, help me find her.”

However, despite his avid search, Rachel was nowhere to be found. No one had seen her. No one had any idea where she had gone.

Finally, with the upper floor lights now winking off for the night, Braeden went into his office and closed the door. He needed to concentrate. Rachel had to be somewhere nearby. But where? He contemplated the matter for some time. Then, breaking Fred Harvey's most important rule, he took himself into the dining room, back through the kitchen, and into the private parlor and dormitory hallway of the Harvey Girls. Curfew was ten o'clock, and since the hour was nearly midnight, all of the girls should be safely locked in their rooms. With this in mind, Braeden felt some confidence that he'd not have to be further accused of molesting yet another Harvey employee. His reputation was already suffering, and with Fred Harvey's strict rules on propriety and honor, Braeden wondered if he'd even have a job once Esmeralda spoke out against him. After all, Harvey himself had arrived that evening by train to share in the celebration. He would no doubt preside over any dispute of such a grand nature. For the first time, Braeden realized he might lose his job or even find himself jailed. He shook his head. All of that was immaterial to finding Rachel.

He knew where Gwen Carson's room was and made his way there as quietly as possible. Knocking lightly on the door, he continued to glance over his shoulder to make certain no one else had appeared in the hallway.

“Yes?” Gwen asked, opening the door wide. When she saw it was Braeden, she shrieked and pushed the door closed all but a couple of inches. “Mr. Parker, what in the world do you want? You aren't supposed to be here!”

“I know, Miss Carson, and I do apologize. It's just that Rachel is missing, and I wondered if you knew of some favorite place she might go.”

Gwen opened the door a few more inches. “Rachel is missing? What do you mean?”

“It's a long story,” Braeden replied in complete exasperation. “Something happened tonight that upset her. I need to find her and explain.”

Completely taken in by this development, Gwen let the door fall open. “The only place I know she goes is the O'Donnell house. Mrs. O'Donnell is probably her best friend.”

Braeden felt relief wash over him. “Of course! Why didn't I think of that! Thank you, Miss Carson.”

He hurried back the way he'd come and ran out the front door of the lobby, mindless of the bellboy who stared at him in curiosity.

The O'Donnells lived just over the main bridge, and they were less than three blocks away from the Needlemeier mansion. It made perfect sense that Rachel would have gone here. Braeden knew of her love for Simone O'Donnell and of Jeffery's deep abiding friendship for the woman he'd worked with. Braeden felt a small amount of relief in believing her to be there. She would be safe, and Simone would calm her down and help her to see reason. At least he prayed she would.

But when he arrived, the small clapboard house was dark and it wasn't until then that he remembered Jeffery and Simone had been at the resort celebration. Knocking loudly, Braeden felt his anxiety mount. They were probably already in bed and completely exhausted from their evening. After all, Jeffery was still recovering from his incident from the night before. If Rachel would have come to them, they probably wouldn't have even been here. Now his mind tried to logically conclude where she might have gone upon finding the O'Donnell house empty.

While he contemplated this, the door opened and Jeffery stood looking in questionable silence at Braeden. Without waiting for him to speak, Braeden apologized. “I know it's late, but I'm looking for Rachel.”

“Rachel's not at Casa Grande?” Jeffery asked, concern edging his tone.

“No,” Braeden said with a sigh. “Look, something happened tonight. Something awful—and Rachel thinks the worst of me. I have to find her.”

“Why don't you come in and explain while I get dressed. Then I can help you look for her.”

Not knowing what else to do, Braeden nodded and followed Jeffery into the house just as Simone O'Donnell appeared. She had wrapped herself up in a dark blue dressing gown and was fussing with her hair as she came into the room.

“What's happened?” she asked. Her gaze rested on Braeden as though she were trying to read his mind. “It's Rachel, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Braeden said. “She's missing.”

“I'm going to get dressed and help him look for her,” Jeffery stated, as though that would answer all of Simone's questions.

“I'll get dressed too,” she said. “Maybe I can help.”

“No, someone should stay in case Rachel comes here,” Braeden replied.

“Why would Rachel come here?” Simone asked, eyeing him sternly.

Braeden swallowed hard and tried to think of a delicate way to explain. In exasperation he ran his hand through his sandy hair, then plunged it deep into his pocket. His nerves were getting the best of him. “I was called to meet Mrs. Needlemeier at her house this evening. Only it turns out she didn't send the note—her niece, Ivy Brooks, did the deed. Ivy, as you may well know, has been a thorn in Rachel's side since the beginning.”