Orchids in Moonlight (38 page)

"Leave me alone."

"Hear me out, please. I've sent for the law, to report everything, and now I have to make arrangements for my father's funeral. I need you to help me."

She sat up, gathering her robe about her tightly as she faced him, hostility boiling. "Why would I help you do anything after what you've done? And by the way," she asked contemptuously, "are you going to admit to the law how you drove a man to his death? I hate you for that, Blake. I always will."

"You're just upset," he said softly. "All this has been a terrible shock for both of us, but we have to go on and try to forget."

"I'm leaving here. I won't stay in this evil place."

"I can't allow that. Not now."

Her eyes widened. "You can't keep me here."

"No. Not indefinitely. But the next few days are going to be difficult for me. I want you beside me. Then I'll give you money to make your own life somewhere else if that's what you want. Don't you see I'm hurting too? It was like a knife to my heart to see you here with Austin last night, but I can make myself forget it, and we can go on from here, into the future together, because I love you so much I'm willing to do anything to have you."

"I never led you to believe I cared about you beyond friendship. You've no right to expect more from me now. Especially after last night. You killed Cord as surely as though you put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger."

For the first time, Blake did not try to hold his temper back, voice rising shrilly as he lashed out. "He murdered my father, whether you're willing to believe it or not. He was the last one seen going into the greenhouse."

She matched his fury with her own and cried vehemently, "You don't know that."

"He had a motive."

"So did Morena."

"Why would she kill him? With him dead, she has nothing. She's lost everything, because she knows I despise her and won't allow her on the premises. She's already gone. She took off last night. No." He shook his head from side to side in dogged resolution. "Morena didn't do it. She'd never destroy the only security she had."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Maybe your father ordered her to leave, and she killed him in a fit of rage."

"He would never have done that, no matter what she did. They might have fought a lot, but he was bewitched by her. He didn't even cast her aside when she went to my mother and told her she was sleeping with him. And he didn't turn her away when she drove my mother to blow her brains out," he added raggedly, biting his lip to hold back the sobs choking in his throat as the memory of how he had found her came thundering down.

Jaime felt a slight stirring of pity but lashed out. "The least you could have done was give Cord a chance to try to prove his innocence."

To her surprise, he nodded contritely.

"You're right. I should have. And I probably would have if he hadn't chosen to kill himself instead. I was mad right then and wasn't thinking straight. Seeing my father dead, then the woman I love naked in the arms of another man—it was all too much."

"That doesn't excuse what you did," she snapped. "Now get out of here. I'll stay till after the funeral because I need the money, but I'll see you get it back."

Despite how he felt about her, Blake was still embittered by what he considered her betrayal and retorted, "That won't be necessary. Just think of it as payment for a favor."

Jaime, not about to be scorned, retorted stiffly, "I don't take payments for favors, but I will accept your offer of a loan."

"Whatever makes you happy," he conceded. He got up to leave but first closed the panel. "You won't have to worry about anyone sneaking in on you again. I'm having the opening in the cellar sealed today."

Jaime lay back down and closed her eyes. She didn't care if a dragon came out of the wall. Cord was dead, and so was her heart, and beyond escaping from Pointe Grande, she didn't care about anything.

* * *

The investigation of Stanton Lavelle's death was routine. Cord Austin had, in the eyes of the law and everyone else, confirmed his guilt by diving off the cliff.

The night before the funeral, Blake instructed the servants to open up the ballroom and receive the visitors in there, owing to the large number expected. Dreading it all, he invited Jaime to join him in his father's study for a drink to fortify himself.

She accepted, thinking how he had not seemed particularly distraught once the initial shock of his father's death subsided but was surprised, nonetheless, at his cryptic comment about so many people coming to call.

"Hypocrites. All of them. They hated his guts. Yet they come in droves."

"Some of them came to the ball he gave for me. They didn't seem to feel that way then."

"They wanted to see the inside of the house. It's quite a novelty, you know, building a magnificent place like this out of an old mission. They leaped at the chance to see it."

"So why do they come now?" She really didn't care; she was merely making conversation to pass the miserable time.

"Maybe they think you and I will be getting married and having more socials, and they'll be invited. It could be like that, you know," he added plaintively.

Jaime gave him a cold look.

With a sigh, he poured another drink. "Actually, I think they want to see his body. No doubt, it spread like wildfire how he was stabbed with garden shears. Maybe they thought they could see the wound. Ghouls." He spat the word in contempt.

"But you ordered the coffin closed."

"Damn right I did." He downed his drink, then looked at her over the rim and asked suddenly, "Do you really hate me so?"

She saw no reason to be less than honest. If it angered him and he refused to keep his part of the bargain, she would leave anyway. "You killed a man I loved with all my heart. I realize you had no way of knowing that at the time, but it doesn't change the fact he's dead."

"But how?" He slammed the glass down on the desk and looked her straight in the eye, searching for some meaning to the insanity of his world. "How could you fall in love with a man you only slept with? How could you know what he was really like? You and I, we had days, weeks together. We knew each other. We were friends. I shared your despair over your father, whether you thought so or not, but there was nothing I could do. I had my suspicions, but I suppose"—he went on to dare admit—"I just wasn't man enough to stand up to my father and do anything about them. I regret that now, because we'll never know the truth, and I can't undo what's been done. But I'd like to know, I
have
to know, how you could have fallen in love with Cord Austin so easily. I don't mean to hurt you, Jaime, God knows, but the fact is, I thought you were more moral than that. I put you on a pedestal with my mother."

Jaime was unmoved. "People have to take responsibility for those they place on pedestals, Blake. They put them there because of what they think they see in that person and what they choose to believe about them. As for my falling in love with Cord, there's no reason not to tell you now. The fact is, we knew each other before."

Blake sank into his father's chair and listened in awe as Jaime recounted the tale of the wagon train.

"So you see," she finished, with a smile from her very soul, "I was already in love with him before we became involved intimately. Right or wrong, it happened."

"I'm glad you told me this," he said quietly, honestly, "but it doesn't change the way I feel about you. I still want to marry you."

"When Cord went off that cliff, he took my heart with him. I'll never be able to love anyone ever again."

"You could try."

"It wouldn't work."

"Well, regardless of how you felt about him when he was alive, how can you grieve for a murderer?"

"Because I don't believe he did it. I don't know who killed your father, but it wasn't Cord."

"Perhaps you'll feel different when you're over your shock." He sighed with resignation. "For now, let's go and greet the ghouls, shall we?"

The evening wore on. Jaime fell terribly uncomfortable, knowing her presence was giving the impression that she was actually more than
a
mere houseguest who happened to have the misfortune to be present at a time of tragedy. Standing beside Blake, she was well aware everyone thought they were betrothed, which, she suspected, was his motive in wanting her there. He hoped she would be pressured to change her mind.

At last, the crowd began to thin. Everyone promised to return for the funeral the following afternoon, when Stanton Lavelle was to be buried next to his wife in the mission cemetery.

When they were alone, Blake invited Jaime to have another drink, but she declined, saying she was tired. Instead of going to her room, however, she began to wander through the house. She had learned her way around and wound up in the kitchen, where Enolita was cleaning up after having served the guests.

Slipping behind her, unnoticed, Jaime made her way outside. It was a beautiful night. A full moon was shining down from a clear sky, dripping a path of liquid silver across the tranquil sea. All seemed peaceful, a balmy breeze whispering across the land.

She skirted the greenhouse. She had not been there since the murder and did not intend to go there now. Instead, she was drawn beyond to the place where Cord had met his destiny.

For a long time, perhaps half an hour or more, she stood in the same place where Blake had restrained her that night. Plaintively, she gazed toward the spot where Cord had been trapped. Never would she forget the way he had looked at her in his final moment. He had never said he loved her, but in that last second she had seen it in his face. And though he was gone forever, that precious memory was something no one could ever take away from her.

Finally, she gathered the nerve to proceed to where he had taken that fateful plunge to his death. Had he thought by some miracle he might survive? she wondered, then decided he had. Cord was no coward. He would have taken the chance.

Only he hadn't made it.

She stared down at the waves crashing among the rocks amid swirling chunks of foam. That was the view straight down. A short distance beyond, the water gleamed dark and ominous in the moonlight, for it was deeper there. If Cord had been so fortunate as to land there, he might have been able to swim to safety, but it was not likely. Probably an undertow had caught him and held him under till he drowned.

What had he been thinking in those last moments? She tortured herself. Did he blame her? After all, if not for her problems, he would not have had any of his own because he would not have been involved.

She also recalled how she'd had a feeling he was keeping something from her, had stumbled on a clue he was not yet ready to share. Now she would never know.

She began to tremble. Then great, clutching shudders began to rock her from head to toe. Dear God, would it never end? Was she doomed to forever feel that a part of her had died?

She covered her face with her hands and wept, then finally swiped furiously at her eyes—and that was when she saw it.

With petals like silver sugar sprinkled on lavender and purple satin, an orchid lay nearby, anchored against the wind by small rocks.

With trembling fingers, she retrieved it.

Who would leave it there? she wondered with a chill touching the marrow of her bones. No one knew about her affinity for the rare and special flower except Cord, and she did not believe in ghosts.

* * *

Blake knocked on her door early the next morning, carrying a tray with coffee and one of his mother's gowns folded over his arm.

Sleepily, Jaime put on a robe and admitted him. She'd stayed up most of the night, unable to rest as she continued to wonder about the orchid and how it had got there.

He saw it lying on the table as he went to put the tray down. He frowned. "How did you get in the greenhouse? I had it locked."

"I haven't been there."

"Then where did you get this orchid?" he asked suspiciously.

"I found it."

"But where? I still don't see...." He decided it didn't matter. Probably some of the vaqueros had gone in through windows that had been broken when he'd flung Morena into them. Wanting to view the gory scene, they may have been tempted to steal some of the unusual blossoms and had dropped a few.

He held up the dress, a gray taffeta with simple lines. "It will be perfect for the funeral. My mother wore it when the last of my father's relatives died about five years ago. It's still nice, don't you think?"

Jaime shrugged. "If you want me to wear it, I will."

With a sigh of exasperation, he threw the gown across the end of the bed. "It doesn't have to be like this, you know. We could be friends again. You could act as if you care a little."

"I do care," she said, then added dryly, "about the money, that is. That's the only reason I'm still here, and you know it."

He turned on his heel and left, shoulders slumped.

Jaime did not care he was hurt. His feelings were of no importance to her, regardless of how he had helped her in the past. He had caused Cord's death, and she would never forgive him.