Sailing to Capri (9 page)

The large sealed envelope marked “Do Not Open” contains a copy of my Last Will and Testament, fully executed by me in the presence of my lawyers, who have the original in their safe. It’s to be read by Montana on Capri on the last day of the cruise, and I can guarantee it’s full of surprises.

Do not read the will now, no matter how tempted you are. It’s to be a surprise for everybody. And by the way, everyone will be
your
guests on this cruise, so don’t let any of those toffee-nosed snobs try to patronize you. Remember, I could buy and sell all of them and they know it. After all, isn’t that the reason they’ll be there?

The third envelope is to be opened by you after the “game” is all over and the mystery solved. This one is personal, lass, just between you and
me. I never said this to you in life but I must say it to you now. I love you, Daisy Keane. You have integrity, even though you do tend to lie a bit. You had no designs on my money. And you certainly never had any designs on this big, common, ugly old Yorkshire lad. I can’t blame you for that, though I must admit that, with your red hair and freckled nose, it crossed my mind a couple of times. Only joking, only joking. Pure love is pure love and that’s all there is to it, dead or alive.

I know you’ll take care of Rats for me. And please, lass, take good care of yourself. Find yourself some happiness, I know it’s out there waiting for you. In fact, I guarantee it.

Bob had signed his missive the way he signed all his notes to me, simply with the gigantic “BH.”

I sat for a few minutes stunned, then, shoving Rats out of the way, I got up and began to pace the room nervously.
Why
hadn’t he confided in me?
Why
hadn’t he told me who he suspected and the reason they wanted to kill him? And now I had to take these murder “suspects” on some crazy cruise.

I pulled back the curtains and stared out into the night. The snow had stopped and the windowpanes had those curved white snow corners. They looked the way they used to at Christmastime when I was a kid and we’d fake them with that spray-on stuff from the drugstore. Outside was a winter wonderland, a smooth thick blanket of snow that muffled the normal country noises. The silence was so absolute it throbbed against my ears.

The letter clutched in my hand fluttered in a sudden breeze. Surprised, I stared at it. I glanced at the window but it was tight shut and there was no draft. The back of my neck prick
led. Was it Bob, coming back to keep an eye on me as he’d promised in his letter? I swung around, half-expecting to see him. I thought I heard the curtain rustle and turned quickly back, but it hung perfectly still.

Heart thudding, I ran and switched on every light in the room, then I sank onto the chaise.
“Jesus!
Don’t you do this to me, Bob Hardwick,” I said in a quavering voice.
“Just don’t you do this.”
Eyes closed, I pictured him standing there, a trace of a smile on his big ogre face. Laughing at me.

“Okay. It’s okay,” I told myself loudly. “I’m just imagining things. I’ll be all right now. Everything’s okay.”

But Rats jumped from the bed and ran to the door. He stood there, whining.
He knew someone was there.
I willed myself to walk across and open it.

“Jesus Christ!”
I jumped about three feet into the air. A man was standing in the shadows, looking at me.

Mouth agape, hand clutched to my heaving chest, I stared blankly at Montana. He was wearing a white terry robe and carrying a tray with a blue kitchen teapot, two blue-striped mugs and a plate of gingersnaps.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said politely. “I was just about to knock. I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep once you’d read the letter so I made you a cup of tea. I saw the light under your door …”

“You scared the hell out of me.” My voice sounded brittle, snappy.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked so repentant I almost forgave him. He was barefoot and I thought dazedly how cute he looked, the tanned cropped-headed, tattooed hard-man P.I.

Exhaustion swept over me and suddenly a nice English cup of tea seemed exactly what I needed and Montana’s company
seemed better than none. I stood aside for him to pass then showed him where to put the tray, on the small glass table next to the chaise.

Rats put his paws on the table, sniffing the gingersnaps. I gave him one, then poured the tea. The chaise was the only chair in the room apart from my little vanity stool and since I didn’t want Montana sitting that close to me I showed him to the cushioned window seat. He took the mug I offered him and still standing, he stared out of the window with its Christmasy decoration of snow.

“It’s odd,” he said, “the kind of peace that comes with a blizzard. I don’t know whether it’s because we’re temporarily cut off from the reality of day-to-day living, or whether it’s the complete silence.” He closed his eyes, listening. “There’s not even the sound of the wind blowing anymore.”

“It must remind you of your childhood,” I said.

“Nothing in my childhood was ever peaceful.”

I thought I’d better not get into that, but then it occurred to me that I was so used to being discreet I missed out on a lot of things. For instance, if I’d asked Bob more about his past he might have told me about the woman he’d loved and why he’d never gone back to her.

“So what happened in your childhood?”

Montana took a seat in the window. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the mug clasped in both hands. I felt that little flutter again in regions I didn’t even want to think about. He looked so incredibly masculine in my very feminine silk-curtained boudoir.

“My father was a harsh man,” he said. “He rarely spoke, except
to give orders. He rode out with the cowboys and was gone sometimes for weeks on end, leaving me alone with the old man who was supposed to keep house. But when Pop was away, the old man drank and I was left to fend for myself. All I had was my horse. I loved that mare. Believe it or not I rode her twenty miles to school every morning, and twenty miles back again, that’s how remote we were. I’d hitch her to the post, give her a feed bag and go inside that little country schoolhouse. Just one room and seven reluctant kids, all of different ages, all showing up to get some learning. But learn we did—I could conjugate verbs in Latin before I ever learned how to do it properly in English.”

I took a sip of my tea, temporarily forgetting about Bob.

Montana’s charcoal eyes searched my face. “You’re looking a bit better,” he said. “There’s color in your cheeks now.”

Embarrassed, I tucked my feet under me. In my old pink robe and giant fluffy slippers, I felt like an overgrown junior high school kid at a sleepover. The dog sneaked a second cookie and crunched it loudly, dropping crumbs all over the carpet. I didn’t care.

“I think you should read this.” I handed him Bob’s letter.

I was very aware of our fingers touching as he took it. I also noticed he was still wearing the American Indian–style turquoise bracelet. I guessed he never removed it.

He read the letter carefully, studying every word as though he could find double meanings or hidden references I had missed. I doubted there were any, because Bob always said exactly what he meant. He glanced up.

“Do you believe him?” he asked.

“Bob never lied.”

“So, do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?”

“No one I can think of.”

Montana folded the letter and handed it back to me. “Remember your Bible? The Ten Commandments handed down by Moses?”

I did remember. “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” I said. “Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is thy neighbor’s.”

“Put it in context,” Montana said, “and what have you got? Sex, money, jealousy, envy. Enough to kill for.”

“But Bob was a good man. He would never knowingly hurt anyone. I told you earlier, he always helped people.”

“Hardwick was a hardheaded businessman in a tough dog-eat-dog world. How do you think he got this successful? This rich? He did what he had to and he was as ruthless as anybody else when he had to be.”

I said nothing but I knew in my gut Montana was right.

Montana got to his feet and began to pace. “Money, power. That’s motive number one.” He turned to look out of the window again. His back to me, he said, “Then there’s motive number two. Passion. Sex.”

“I know nothing about that part of Bob’s life,” I said stiffly, because I knew Montana was wondering if Bob and I were lovers.

He swung around and looked me in the eyes. “Why not?”

“Bob told me he didn’t want me,” I said, regretting the words almost before they were out of my mouth.

Montana’s brows rose. “Well now,” he said, half-smiling. “You
have
surprised me.”

“He didn’t mean it like that,” I said defensively. “We’d just met, he offered me a job and I thought he was propositioning me. He told me in no uncertain terms that he could have any woman he wanted, and that he certainly didn’t want me. He didn’t mean it as an insult,” I added, “it was just that he wanted me to get it straight in my head that all he was offering me was a job.”

“And quite a job for a woman with few or no qualifications.”

Anger simmered as I found I was defending myself again. “Bob wasn’t after qualifications. He wanted to help me. You read his letter. Anyhow, as you might have noticed, I was a quick learner. He said I was indispensable to him, he said he couldn’t run his life without me.”

“Then you’re saying there’s no way you could be suspected of murdering him?”

Furious now, I leapt to my feet. “Stop it,” I snarled. “Just stop! And no, I did
not
sleep with Bob Hardwick. No, I was
not
after his money. No, I did
not
‘covet’ anything he owned, except the time he had to spend with me. He was my best friend as well as my employer and … and …” I ran out of words and steam.

“Just wondered,” Montana said mildly.

I glared at him. “You know what? If I was ever going to kill anybody, right now it would be you.”

“That’s exactly the way it happens. Passion of the moment.”

Furious, I flung myself backward onto the bed, arms over my head, slippered feet kicking the air. “Ohhhh,” I yelled. “Why did I ever have to meet you anyway?”

“Because Bob arranged it. He’s given both of us a job. Now it’s up to us to carry it through, regardless of our personal feelings.”

I sat up and stared icily at him. “I don’t know that I can do that,” I said, stiff as Her Majesty the Queen.

“Tough,” he replied coolly. “We have our orders. And anyhow, you’re not doing it for me, you’re doing it for the man you really cared about.” He walked to the table and picked up the teapot. “More tea?”

“No thank you.”

He refilled his mug, looking quite at home in his bathrobe in my bedroom. Rats trotted over to Montana, then settled down at his feet.
Traitor,
I thought.

I got up, kicked off my slippers, slipped out of my robe. “I’m going to bed,” I said, remembering too late the granny nightie, buttoned to the neck and down to the ankles. I climbed hurriedly into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

“Okay, we’ll talk some more in the morning, around ten, make some plans,” Montana said. He walked around my room, checking the windows, closing the curtains, turning off the lamps. He gave Rats a final pat as he walked to the door.

“By the way … cute nightie,” he said as the door closed behind him.

I could swear I heard him laughing.

I turned my head in to the pillow and was asleep within seconds.

Montana did not sleep. He lay on the bed for a long time, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the pleated redsilk canopy, lost in his thoughts.

He’d met Bob Hardwick ten years ago, when the mogul called him in to investigate the backgrounds of certain applicants for a high-powered executive position within his company. Montana had taken care of the job rapidly and efficiently, then he’d gone to see Bob.