Shadows At Sunset (16 page)

T
he living room was a cavernous expanse of light and shadows, but Jilly could still make out Coltrane sprawled on the sofa, exactly where she'd left him the night before.

At least this time he was fully dressed, but the candlelight was even dimmer than the lightbulb that had illuminated the scene last night.

She would have backed up, disappeared, but even from such a distance he saw her, and she was torn between pride and panic. Roofus had no such qualms. He bounded across the room, his paws skittering on the parquet floor until he came to a sliding stop against the sofa, greeting Coltrane like a starving man at a banquet.

“Jilly!” Dean came up beside her, immaculately dressed in a white linen suit. He looked at her and sniffed. “You're dressing for dinner, of course.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I'm not going to be here for dinner,” she lied instinctively. “I have other plans.”

“You can't!” Dean said in the distressed voice she could never say no to. “I've gone to such pains to arrange this all. If you hadn't taken off at the crack of dawn I would have given you more notice. You weren't answering your cell phone, either. Really, Jilly, it's most inconsiderate of you not to think about the rest of us. I needed to get in touch with you! What if there'd been an emergency?”

Jilly softened. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“I wasn't worried. I know you're perfectly able to take care of yourself. But I went to a lot of trouble for this little dinner and I'm counting on you to do your part.”

She glanced across the room toward Coltrane, but he was busy scratching Roofus's head, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. She wasn't fooled. Doubtless he was absorbing every word, the snake.

“What dinner party?” she asked warily.

“Just family. And Coltrane, of course, since he's part of our happy household right now. Very low-key and relaxed. I've had Emilio's cater it, to make things easier.”

“Fine,” she said shortly.

“I charged it to you, of course, since it's your month for household expenses.”

It had been her month for taking care of the household expenses since 1998. “Fine,” she said again, too weary to argue. “Let's get it over with.” She started into the living room, but Dean caught her arm.

“Aren't you going to change into something a little more…festive? You look like something out of LL Bean. Surely you have some standards.”

Jilly glanced down at her faded jeans, bare feet and baggy sweatshirt and shrugged. Her hair hung in one long, thick braid down her back, her face was burnished by the late autumn sun and the wind off the ocean, and she didn't give a damn. She wasn't about to dress up for Coltrane's admiration.

“If this dinner is so laid-back then it shouldn't matter what I'm wearing,” she said, moving past him into the living room before she could change her mind. With anyone else she might have worried that Dean was matchmaking, but in the case of her brother she knew that to be outside the realm of possibility. Dean was too focused on his own needs to even notice what his sister was doing, much less interfere in it. He'd have no idea she was the slightest bit attracted to Coltrane.

The two sofas faced each other across an elegantly set coffee table, and the candlelight flickered seductively. Jilly headed toward the opposite sofa when Dean interfered, pushing her toward Coltrane. “You sit there, Jilly, and Rachel-Ann can sit with me.”

“I don't want—”

“Don't be a pest, Jilly,” Dean snapped. “Coltrane doesn't have cooties. For God's sake sit down and stop making a fuss out of nothing.”

At least Coltrane was ignoring her, concentrating on the perfect spot behind Roofus's ears. For one brief moment Jilly considered outright rebellion, then chickened out. If she made a fuss he'd assume last night mattered more than it did. It was nothing, an embarrassing little…experience…that was best ignored and quickly forgotten. If she tried hard enough.

“Fine,” she muttered, sitting down beside Coltrane on the sofa. Roofus turned and shoved his big head under Jilly's hand, looking for her approval, as well. “Traitor,” she said under her breath.

She wasn't going to look at Coltrane. He'd probably smirk at her, and if he did she'd take the candelabrum and bash him over the head with it, then upend the glass coffee table….

Pleasantly violent thoughts, but she wasn't going to act on them, and she knew it. She was cool, impervious, she reminded herself. And the longer she put off looking at Coltrane the harder it was going to be.

“What can I get you, Jilly? Brandy?” Dean asked helpfully.

“No!” She couldn't help her reaction. It was brandy that had gotten her into that mess last night. “Just iced tea, thanks.”

Too late she realized that Dean would have to leave to get it for her. Leave her alone with Coltrane. She opened her mouth to speak but Dean had already vanished, abandoning her to her fate.

“You shouldn't blame the brandy,” Coltrane said.

Steeling herself, she turned to look at him. At least he wasn't smirking at her. “For what?” she said in a cool voice.

“Haven't you figured out yet that it's a bad idea to call my bluff, Jilly?” he said softly. “I'm not bluffing. It wasn't the brandy last night.”

She leaned back against the far end of the sofa, pulling her feet up between them. “Do we really need a postmortem?” she said in an utterly convincing drawl.

Except that he didn't appear convinced. “No,” he said. “We just have to finish what we started.”

Lucky for him that Rachel-Ann appeared at that moment, or the candelabrum would have been destroyed. “Aren't you two cozy-looking?” Rachel-Ann said, curling up on the sofa opposite them. She'd dressed for dinner in a simple black sheath, and she looked livelier than Jilly had seen her in months. A momentary dread formed in the pit of her stomach, as she surveyed her sister anxiously. But there was no telltale glitter in her green eyes, no imperceptible slackness to her mouth. Jilly had gotten so that she could tell if her sister had even touched a wineglass, and despite the fact that her sister looked unexpectedly cheerful, she also looked completely sober.

“You look gorgeous,” Jilly said.

“Thanks, darling. I wish I could say the same thing about you. You look like something the cat dragged in. Did you spend the day at the ocean?”

“How'd you guess?”

“Isn't that where you always run when you get upset? I run to a bottle, you run to the ocean. Your answer is probably healthier.”

Oh, God, don't go there, Jilly thought miserably.

“What upset you, Jilly?” Coltrane asked in a dulcet tone.

“I discovered there are rats at La Casa,” she replied grimly. “I'm going to have to call in an exterminator.”

He laughed, unmoved. “I think you're more than capable of getting rid of any unwanted rodents. If you really wanted to.”

“I don't like rats,” Jilly said.

“No one does, Jilly,” Rachel-Ann protested. “Let's not talk about vermin—it's not very appetizing. Tell me, where do you run to, Coltrane? You must run somewhere when you're upset.”

“I don't get upset,” he said simply.

“And I don't believe you,” Rachel-Ann returned. “Where do you go when things get too much for you? Drugs, alcohol, sex? Come on, don't be shy! Dean's arranged this little party so we can get to know each other better. After all, we're living in each others' back pockets—we might as well know what we're up against. What's your drug of choice, Coltrane?”

“Revenge.” The reply was short, simple and faintly chilling.

Even Rachel-Ann looked taken aback. “Now how healthy is that, I ask you? And who are you wanting revenge on?”

“Anyone who's wronged me and mine.”

“Me and mine?” Rachel-Ann echoed. “How wonderfully feudal. What fair damsel are you defending? Whose honor was besmirched?” She was mocking him, and Jilly wanted to stop her. There was an odd tension in the room, one that Rachel-Ann was ignoring, but even Roofus was whining slightly, upset at the undercurrents.

“My mother,” Coltrane said softly.

Rachel-Ann's eyes widened, and she was momentarily silenced. Long enough for Jilly to jump into the breach, willing to do anything to change the subject. “What did you do today, Rachel-Ann? You were out late last night.”

Wrong distraction, Jilly thought the moment the words were out of her mouth. It would sound as if she were cross-examining her sister, and that was the last thing she wanted. It didn't matter if she knew where Rachel-Ann was or not. She couldn't stop her from doing what she wanted to do, and knowing only made it worse.

A brief, almost girlish smile crossed her sister's face, and then vanished, as if she were ashamed of it. “Sorry if you were worried. I spent the night with…an old friend.”

“I didn't think you had any old friends, darling,” Dean said, setting a tray of drinks on the table. “I thought they either dropped you cold or succumbed to ODs.”

“Don't be a pest, Dean,” Rachel-Ann said lightly. “I'm in a good mood for a change—don't mess with it. By the way, does anyone know what happened to Consuelo and Jaime?”

“Grandmère's cook and chauffeur?” Dean said. “I remember Jackson fired them without any warning when we were staying here. I think Jaime died of a heart attack a few years ago, but Consuelo retired and is living in the Valley. I forget—did they have children?”

“A son,” Jilly said. She watched with fascination as a faint stain of color tinged her sister's pale cheeks. “I don't know what happened to him—I think his name was Richard.”

Rachel-Ann shrugged in a fine show of disinterest. “It doesn't matter. I was just thinking about Consuelo. She made the best
huevos rancheros
in the world.”

“The very thought of eggs and chili in the morning makes me want to hurl,” Dean said.

“Actually it's not as bad as you might think,” Rachel-Ann murmured.

“Am I to presume you had
huevos rancheros
for breakfast after your night of debauchery?” Dean said with his usual lack of tact.

“I'm afraid my night was totally free of debauchery,” she replied with surprising dignity. “Hate to disappoint you, brother dear.”

“No disappointment, love,” Dean said softly. For all his petty malice Jilly had no doubt that he truly loved both his sisters, almost as much as he loved himself.

And this little get-together would be just lovely if it weren't for the interloper sitting at the other end of the sofa, watching them as a scientist would watch mating cockroaches.

There was a definite limit to how long she was going to manage to sit here being sociable, Jilly thought. She'd told herself she wouldn't run, wouldn't let Coltrane drive her from her home and family, but that was when she'd been fool enough to think she had some defenses left. All it had taken was a few moments in his presence and she realized just how vulnerable she was.

“When's dinner?” she asked abruptly.

Dean frowned at her. “Were you thinking you might change out of that nouveau hobo apparel into something a little more flattering?”

“No, I was thinking I had things to do.”

“They can wait,” Dean said, taking a sip of his wine. “Aren't you interested in what the rest of us did to spend the day? Isn't that how a happy household unwinds over cocktails? Discussing the day's events?”

“We aren't a happy household and Rachel-Ann and I aren't drinking cocktails,” Jilly pointed out.

“Details!” Dean dismissed them. “You'll never guess what Coltrane did.”

“I don't really give a damn,” Jilly said, no longer caring if she sounded rude. She had to get out of there, away from that assessing look in Coltrane's green eyes.

“Of course you do, darling. Since he spent the day messing with your beloved La Casa. Our father's chief of legal affairs has unexpected talents.”

Coltrane wasn't saying a word, watching them all with distant tolerance.

“All right, what did he spend the day doing?” Jilly asked wearily, tired of the game playing.

“He can plumb.”

“Plumb? Plumb what?”

“Pipes, darling. Faucets and drains and all those nasty things. He's an absolute marvel. He can even sweat.”

She jerked her head to look at Coltrane. He was lounging against the armrest of the sofa, not saying a word. “I imagine he can. I'm supposed to be impressed?” Jilly said.

“Sweat pipes, dear. It's a rare talent.”

“It's my blue-collar roots showing through,” Coltrane murmured. “Not all of us are California bluebloods.”

“California bluebloods?” Dean echoed. “What a concept. I wonder if there really is such a thing. We're definitely children of privilege, I won't deny that. Not that having Jackson as a father has been that much of a treat. I might honestly have preferred living in the Valley with an insurance salesman for a father and Donna Reed for a mother.”