Orchids in Moonlight (27 page)

"No," she screamed, waving frantically, picking up her satchel to chase after him. "Please, don't. It's all I've got, all I've got in this world…"

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran, but by the time she reached the corner, which he had rounded only seconds before, he was out of sight.

Chapter 17

The hotel manager made clucking noises of sympathy but scolded. "You never should have let him see your money. Miss Chandler. Sometimes the temptation is just too great. The safest thing to do with beggars is ignore them."

The policeman who had finally responded to her angry shouts had said the same thing, and Jaime repeated her earlier response. "I felt sorry for him."

"And now I feel sorry for
you,"
the manager offered perfunctorily as he wondered what he was supposed to do with her. The police had brought her to the hotel, after she told them she was on her way inside when she was robbed. There was nothing they could do, they said, except make a report. There was little if any chance of catching the robber or getting her money back.

Jaime sat rigidly, staring out the window and thinking how she really should have known better, but at the time, had only wanted to help a starving stranger. Now, ironically, she might have to resort to begging herself.

The manager appraised her appearance and wrinkled his nose ever so slightly. Although she was quite pretty, she was obviously not of the upper classes. Her dress was clean but had seen better days. He suspected the robber had stolen what money she had, and the worn satchel she held on her lap contained all her belongings. Compassionately, he said, "I can arrange for you to stay here tonight as our guest, and tomorrow you can contact your family and make other arrangements."

"That's kind of you. Actually, I hadn't thought about where I'd stay."

He lifted his brows. "Then why were you coming to the hotel?"

"I was told I could find Stanton Lavelle."

The manager began to shuffle papers around on his desk, not looking at her as he said, "Mr. Lavelle vacated his offices here some time ago."

Was it her imagination, she wondered, or did she detect a sudden air of hostility? "Could you tell me where he moved?"

He waved his hand airily, "Who knows? The last I heard, he had sequestered himself in that fortresslike cliff house of his."

Her curiosity was whetted. "But why did he leave?"

"I'm really not at liberty to say. I don't think my superiors would want me discussing the personal problems of our business tenants. Let's just say there was an unfortunate incident, and the hotel thought it best he vacate." With eyes narrowed, he asked bluntly, "What did you want to see him about?"

She saw no reason not to explain that her father had entered into a venture with Lavelle a while back, and since he was the only contact she knew her father had in San Francisco—in all of California, actually—she felt Lavelle was her best hope of locating him.

The manager chose his words carefully, as he did not want to get too involved in any dealings concerning Lavelle. Taking pen and paper, he began to draw a crude map, explaining as he did so. "This will show you the way to his estate. It's not hard to find. The road runs right along the beach. You'll need to rent a horse and cart, though, since it's nearly five miles."

Handing her the map, he started to get up. "Would you like me to make the arrangements? If you hurry and leave right away, you can make it there before dark."

"No. But thank you."

With an inward groan, he sank down and waited for her to confirm his suspicion she was destitute.

She did so. "I'm afraid I don't have any money. That man took all I had. I'll have to take you up on your kind offer for lodging, and then I'll start walking first thing in the morning."

He was quick to protest. "I can't let you do that. Suppose the hotel pays for the cart and horse? It's about the same price as a room." Dear Lord, he just wanted to be rid of her. Strangers looking for Lavelle could mean trouble.

She did not hesitate to accept. "But only with the understanding that once I find my father I'll come back and repay you. I'm not the sort to take charity."

"Yes, yes, of course." He was already on his way through the door to make arrangements to get her out of there.

* * *

The trail did wind close to the beach, and Jaime marveled at the breathtaking scenery. Once outside the city, she saw there was a constant succession of coves and crescents. A line of sand dunes, low and rolling and fringed with bushes and low-growing reeds, lined the sandy stretches. High bluffs rose abruptly from the water's edge.

It was a world of beach and bluffs, with green tufts of grass and wildflowers creeping. The blue-green waters glistened in the late-evening sun as the waves broke softly in snowy masses of foam.

She saw fishing boats drifting and passed a few huts along the way, but for the most part it was a long and lonely stretch. With a shiver, she commanded herself not to think of having to return alone, at night, if Mr. Lavelle did not take her to her father or offer her hospitality till morning. Her quest was not without risks, she knew, but there were no other options. Had she not lost the rest of her money, she could have used the hotel as her base and made day trips to search for her father. Now, she found herself truly desperate.

She also tried not to think of Cord and blame him for her plight. So what if he did consider her no better than a whore? She was not his responsibility and never had been. Yet to think of him provoked anger and bitterness, so she concentrated instead on the beauty of the moment at hand.

At last, the road trailed over a rocky headland projecting across the beach. Beyond, she could see a path leading from the sand. Bordered by a short stone wall on each side, it curved and disappeared into the rocky bluff. Gazing upward, she saw what could only be Stanton Lavelle's cliff house. It hung out and over the boiling sea, which at that point crashed wildly against the sharp, jutting cluster of rocks directly below.

The trail narrowed, but Jaime was able to maneuver the cart and horse between the walls. As she crested one point, she could see a wider road leading to the front of the house, for those traveling away from the beach at high tide.

But the massive structure could not really be called a house, she decided, staring in awe at the three-story structure reaching to the clouds above. Built by the Spanish for Franciscan fathers to convert the Indians, it did resemble a fort. And below, scattered about on the massive bluff, were adobelike structures with red-tiled roofs, constructed for other Spaniards to live in as they worked the lands around so long ago.

As she climbed yet higher, she could look eastward, away from the ocean, at rolling grasslands with cattle grazing. There also appeared to be acres of vineyards. Mr. Lavelle had obviously taken over the old farms the Indians had been taught to work.

With the lush valley on one side, the honeyed sea on the other, and the magnificent mission looming above, Jaime felt she had entered a world found only in storybooks.

But her feeling of enchantment ended abruptly when she rounded a curve to see a bearded man, with angry black eyes, standing in the middle of the path.

Jerking back on the reins to bring the horse to an abrupt halt, she met his challenging gaze uneasily.

He was holding a rifle but did not point it as he gruffly informed her, "Senor Lavelle did not tell me he was expecting a guest. Go back the way you came."

Fighting for composure, she responded, "I'll do nothing of the kind. It doesn't matter I'm not expected. If Mr. Lavelle is any kind of a gentleman at all, he'll not turn a lady from his door, especially with night approaching. And you go tell him that," she finished with a curt nod. "I'll wait here if you prefer, but I assure you I pose no threat to anyone."

He continued to stare at her insolently for a moment, then, with a grunt, he turned and disappeared around another bend in the trail.

He hadn't told her to wait, but Jaime decided it was best she did. He might be waiting to shoot her if she made a move and would swear later his warnings had been ignored.

After what seemed forever, he returned. "The guards at the house said he is eating dinner, and they don't dare disturb him, but if you go on up there, they will give you a lantern to help you see the way back to town."

"Oh, how kind," she muttered sarcastically, popping leather to start the horse moving onward. She had news for all of them, by God, because Stanton Lavelle could leave his precious dinner long enough to tell her if he knew her father's whereabouts. Surely that wasn't asking too much.

Darkness was rapidly descending, and as she drew closer, she could see lights coming from the massive stone building. In front, before two massive wooden doors, there was a courtyard. There, two other guards waited, as uncooperative and suspicious as the first man she had encountered.

"No one comes to Pointe Grande without invitation," the taller of the two declared without greeting. "You will leave."

"I will not leave."

As she got out of the cart, both men raised their rifles, eyes dark in warning.

"Now listen, you two," she began, hoping they couldn't hear how her knees were knocking together. Confronting angry faces and guns was frightening, but she'd be damned if she let them know it. "I didn't come out here hoping to be invited for dinner. I want less than five minutes of your boss's time, and that's what I'm going to have, or you're going to have to shoot me."

"We can do that, senorita," the short one assured her.

She liked him even less that his partner, because he grinned when he talked. A real cocky sort. "You probably could," she countered boldly. "You look like the sort who'd gun down a woman. But I'm not leaving here till I see him. So you can go tell him James Chandler's daughter has come all the way from Missouri and wants to know where he is. That's all I ask."

The guards exchanged wary looks. They did not really want to shoot her and finally decided to risk Lavelle's wrath and let him make the decision as to what to do with her.

After muttering to each other in Spanish, the short one went inside, while his cohort watched her suspiciously as she paced restlessly about the courtyard.

After what seemed forever, the guard returned. Grudgingly, he told her, "You can go inside. He will speak with you. Enolita will take you to him."

Enolita, a plump middle-aged Mexican woman, wore the same annoyed expression as the guards as she led Jaime through a twisting maze of corridors.

Stepping through another set of double doors, she found herself on a bridgelike structure, walled, with round open windows on either side. A brisk wind was blowing across, and Jaime dared to pause and look down in the gathering twilight, shuddering at the gaping crevice in the rocks below.

"Come, come," Enolita urged impatiently.

A little way farther, she lingered once more, this time as they passed a large room with shining floors of mosaic tile. Thick draperies of royal blue velvet hung at the huge windows, and French doors led out to a terrace overhanging the crashing waters below. "A ballroom." She had time to marvel, seeing a raised platform to seat an orchestra at one end.

Enolita tugged irritably at her arm.

Clutching her satchel, Jaime hurried after her.

Wondering how she would ever find her way back again, she was finally shown into what she supposed was Stanton Lavelle's study. It was the coziest spot she had seen so far. A leather sofa with matching chairs was positioned before a huge stone fireplace. Flames crackled in the grate. Rugs of bearskin and lamb's wool were scattered about the floor for warmth. In one corner was a huge desk, littered with papers. Lanterns bathed the room in a mellow, inviting light.

Enolita motioned her to sit down, indicated she should help herself to the liquor sitting on a bar to one side, and left.

Jaime looked at the crystal decanters, and her stomach gave a lurch. A drink of whiskey would surely knock her to her knees, as hungry as she was. How long had it been? Food had been plentiful on the steamer, but she had been trying to save her money and had eaten sparingly.

Save her money, she thought scornfully. She had saved it, all right—for the wily crook who had run off with it. Now she wished she had spent every bit of it on the boat, stuffing herself till she ached.