Share No Secrets (22 page)

Lucas also knew opioids resulted in sedation.

“Sedation,” he said aloud. “Must be very convenient to have your victim sedated, unable to run or even crawl, but still breathing if you want his murder to look like an accidental burn fatality.”

“Something you need, Sheriff?”

Lucas looked up at Naomi, his perky new secretary and a part-time dispatcher, who had the bad habit of constantly interrupting his thoughts. “Nothing, thanks.”

“Well, it’s just that you were talking. I thought maybe you were talking to me. Wanting something. Coffee, maybe.”

“No, thanks.”

‘Okay.” Naomi had inched into the room as she chattered and now nearly stood on tiptoe trying to peer over the top of the papers in his hand. “Is that an autopsy report?”

“Yes,” Lucas said in irritation.

“Anything interesting in it?” she asked, blue eyes snapping with curiosity.

“A couple of very interesting things,” he returned sharply. He’d had enough of cigarette abstinence and also of her badly concealed curiosity. He rose from his chair.

“Interesting things about Julianna Brent?” Naomi continued, undaunted.

“About her
and
Claude Duncan.”

“Oh, him,” she said with indifference. “Nothing juicy about
her,
the model?”

Lucas gave her a withering look, deciding that she didn’t just annoy him. He definitely disliked her. “Sorry, nothing juicy enough to satisfy you, I’m sure.” Naomi looked bland, totally missing the insult. “If I’m needed, I’ll be outside for the next ten minutes or so.” He saw her eyes on the autopsy reports and picked them up. “I think I’ll take these with me and look at them in the light of day.”

‘Oh, okay. But I could file them for you.”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am.” And I’m also sure this will definitely be a three-cigarette break, Lucas thought as he strode past the unnerving innocent-faced girl with the rapacious eyes. Just as sure as I am that you will never get a chance to even
glance
at these reports if I have to lock them in a safe.

Naomi wore a sharp-edged cologne that made Lucas’s nose tingle, and she’d frozen her silver-frosted mouse-brown hair into immobility with some kind of hair spray that seemed to contain Super Glue. She did not step aside and he had to press himself against the doorframe in order not to rub against her body as he passed by. “You enjoy your smokes, Sheriff. You work
so
hard, you really deserve a break, even if smoking isn’t a healthy habit.” She smiled insinuatingly and nearly cooed, “Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to make you stop. Smoking, that is.”

By sheer force of will, Lucas did not shudder. He did decide, however, that Naomi would not be working here this time next week.

“Henri Toulouse-Lautrec is probably most famous for two things,” Adrienne said to her art appreciation class. “First, for being a dwarf, or to use the more politically correct term, a little person. Second, for leading what many consider a dissolute or wild life in the nightclubs and brothels of Paris.”

“He sounds like my kind of guy,” a grinning, blunt-featured boy in the back row said loudly. “The part about the nightclubs and whorehouses, not the dwarf part.”

A prim-faced young man near the front muttered, “She said
brothels,
not whorehouses. Also, Toulouse-Lautrec was a great artist. That’s what you should remember him for, cretin.”

“What was that, dork weed?” the brash one challenged loudly.

“He just pointed out that Toulouse-Lautrec was a great artist,” Adrienne said quickly. The two guys had been at war since the class had begun and, in her mind, acted like they belonged in the seventh grade, not college. “Toulouse-Lautrec was greatly influenced by Degas and Gauguin, but he developed his own style—that of a graphic artist. This is what makes his paintings so suited to lithography, or posters. Let’s look at a few.”

“Fantastic. Can’t wait, can you, dork weed?” came loudly from the back of the room.

Dork weed sighed in martyrdom. Adrienne gritted her teeth, dimmed the lights, and placed a slide of
At the Moulin Rouge
into the projector. “This really isn’t a scene of gaiety as it appears at first glance. The characters in the painting don’t look truly happy. Another interesting aspect of this piece is the figure of the short, bearded man standing next to the tall man at the back of the room. The short man is Toulouse-Lautrec. He put himself into his own painting!”

Adrienne looked around. What had she expected? Gasps of awe? Yelps of delight? The class was silent. Doric weed stared at the slide in grim concentration while cretin yawned hugely. Ignoring the lack of verbal reaction as she plowed on with what she’d thought was a fascinating slide show, Adrienne glanced at her daughter.

Adrienne slumped at the back of the room. The girl had been of two minds about coming. Attending a college class had made her feel grown-up and sophisticated. But she’d been embarrassed about being dragged to a class taught by her mother. During the first half hour, she’d looked alert and even took notes. Now, in the second hour, she had abandoned her notebook as well as her scrutiny of the other students and looked positively glassy-eyed with ennui. After all, no notes were being passed, no one was chewing the gum forbidden in secondary school, and there were no cute boys under the age of eighteen who might be interested in a fourteen-year-old girl.

To top off her misery, Skye’s favorite television show was on right now. Adrienne had set the VCR to time-tape the program, although Skye had complained that taped shows lost their “immediacy,” a term she’d picked up from Rachel. But in light of the break-in along with every other horrible thing that had happened in the last couple of days, Adrienne wasn’t going to let her daughter stay by herself this evening, even though the class ended at nine o’clock, before Skye’s bedtime. In fact, she wondered if she’d ever feel safe leaving her precious Skye unattended ever again.

• • •

“That was
really
a good class, Mom,” Skye said as they walked through the lighted parking lot to their car.

“Thanks, honey.” Although a few times you looked like you were going to lapse into unconsciousness from boredom, Adrienne thought. “You know, those two guys calling each other names aren’t typical college students.”

“I figured. They seemed like guys in
my
school. I didn’t pay any attention to them. Just you.”

“Maybe you’d like experimenting with painting soon.”

“Uh … I think I take after Daddy more than you. I want to be a writer.”

“Your dad wasn’t a writer.”

“When he was in Las Vegas, he wrote his comedy routines. He told me.”

Adrienne didn’t want to think about those mildly amusing routines Trey had created and thought were hilarious. “I thought you were more interested in writing murder mysteries.”

“Oh, I am,” Skye assured her. “I hope your feelings aren’t hurt because I don’t want to be an artist. I just don’t think I have any talent for painting.”

Adrienne put her arm around Skye’s shoulders. “My feelings aren’t hurt. My father wanted me to be a doctor, but I didn’t
want
to be a doctor. So, I followed my own desires. That’s always the best way to go.”

“It wasn’t for Daddy. Being a hit in Las Vegas was his big dream, but it turned out to be a disaster for him. I think it broke his heart.” Adrienne was surprised by her daughter’s mature observation. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then she began slowly. “Your dad didn’t have the talent for a musical comedy act, but he had great charisma. After we came back to Point Pleasant, he was a fabulous salesman at your grandfather’s furniture store.”

“I’m glad. But I’m still sorry Daddy didn’t get to do what he really wanted to.” Skye paused. “And I’m sorry I don’t remember him as well as I used to.”

Adrienne wondered what was the correct response to that remark. She couldn’t very well say that Trey wasn’t as real to his own wife as he used to be, either. Or that she sometimes wondered if she’d loved him as much as she’d told herself she did because she thought marriage to a good-looking, charming young man would make her forget a silly teenaged infatuation with Drew Delaney, an infatuation she couldn’t let flare to life again, especially after seeing his car today had raised questions about his actions toward her.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad about Daddy,” Skye said.

“You didn’t.” Adrienne gave Skye a squeeze. “Daddy died four years ago. It’s natural for our memory of him to dim a little bit so we
don’t
get sad all the time. But you loved your daddy very much, and he knew it. That’s what’s important.” Skye gave her a small, relieved smile.

“Here’s the car at last,” Adrienne said. “Next time we’ll come earlier. I don’t like having to park at the back of the lot even if it’s well lighted.”

The college was only about ten minutes away from their home and Adrienne was glad. She felt unusually tired after what had been a fairly easy class to teach. But when they neared the house, she was surprised to see a small, red car sitting beneath the new dusk-to-dawn light the electric company had installed near the street that afternoon.

“That’s Rachel’s car!” Skye said excitedly.

They found the young woman sitting on the front porch steps, her chin propped on a cupped hand. “I didn’t think you two would
ever
get home.”

‘Is something wrong?” Adrienne asked anxiously. “Are Vicky and Philip all right?”

“Sure. Off on another campaign trip. I talked to them on the phone about three hours ago. Dad was practicing his speech. Honestly, I think he’s forgotten how to talk normally. He just booms out sentences along with all these sweeping gestures. It’s weird.” Skye giggled. “Anyway, I felt kind of lonely in that big house by myself and I thought I’d come by to visit two of my favorite people. I forgot that you had a class tonight, Aunt Adrienne.”

Adrienne caught the forlorn note in Rachel’s usually animated voice. “We’re delighted to see you, Rachel, but you shouldn’t be sitting out here by yourself after our break-in.”

“We had one, too. Besides, you’ve got this place lit up like a parking lot.”

“Yes, it’s a bit bright, but better safe than sorry.” Adrienne looked at the picture window to see Brandon peering out, his tongue lolling. He adored Rachel. “Let’s go in and get comfortable. I don’t know what possessed me to wear high heels tonight.”

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Skye took Rachel’s hand as Adrienne opened the front door and began punching numbers on the alarm system she decided she’d never get used to. “So many exciting things have happened the last few days and we didn’t get a chance to talk about them! But I thought you’d be with Bruce tonight.”

“He wanted to go to a movie, but I wasn’t in the mood. Bruce is okay, but I don’t want to spend as much time with him as he wants to spend with me.” Rachel grinned and tapped Skye’s nose. “You are
much
more fun than Bruce Allard.” She stooped and hugged an elated Brandon. “And you’re much more handsome!”

After Rachel double-checked Adrienne’s handiwork with the alarm system and Adrienne kicked off the hated spike heels, they all trailed into the kitchen. It was then she knew exactly how downbeat Rachel was feeling when she asked for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate had always been her greatest source of comfort. Skye promptly said she was also dying for hot chocolate, even though she’d announced on the way home she wanted lemonade because of the unusually hot June night. Adrienne was always amused by Skye’s desire to be like her beautiful, older cousin. Amused and glad. Rachel set a good example.

“How is your job going?” Adrienne asked Rachel as she poured herself a cup of chocolate she didn’t really want.

“All right, although I’m not getting to do as much with the Brent murder as I’d like.”

“I don’t have any more information from Sheriff Flynn,” Adrienne warned.

Rachel’s face reddened. “This time I didn’t come to pump you for information. I promise. The murder is just on my mind a lot.”

Adrienne sat down at the kitchen table with the girls. “Rachel, the murder of Julianna Brent is the most sensational story the
Register
has handled for years, and as bright and promising a reporter as you are, you haven’t even graduated from college yet. Drew probably feels you don’t have enough experience to take over the story, not to mention the resentment his giving it to you would cause among the other reporters who’ve been at the paper for years instead of a couple of months.”

Rachel took a sip of hot chocolate and, ignoring her small marshmallow mustache, said gravely, “I guess you’re right, Aunt Adrienne.”

Skye nodded. “Sometimes Mom has real good ideas.”

“Thank you, dear,” Adrienne said dryly.

“But there’s Claude Duncan’s death, too,” Rachel said. “Maybe someone deliberately set that fire.”

“Where did you hear that?” Adrienne asked sharply.

“Well, I heard that Sheriff Flynn had an arson expert look over the site. And murder makes sense if Claude saw something the morning Julianna was killed.”

“If he did, why wouldn’t he tell the police?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t very smart. Maybe he didn’t realize the importance of what he’d seen, but the killer didn’t know that, or he thought Claude might realize it later.”

“Wow, that’s a great idea, too!” Skye looked at her mother. “I have to start taking notes if I’m gonna write murder mysteries someday. Although I’d rather not write one about Julianna’s murder.”

“I’d rather you didn’t too, honey. If you’re sure you want to write murder mysteries, I’d like for you to stick to entirely fictional characters, not one of my best friends.”

The doorbell rang. Brandon barked and all three females jumped, then stiffened. Finally Rachel quirked a smile and said, “I don’t think murderers or thieves ring the bell. It’s probably Sheriff Flynn, Aunt Adrienne.”

Of course, Adrienne thought. If she was going to stay in this house, she couldn’t fall apart every time someone came to the door or called. And she hadn’t talked to Lucas since morning. He was probably dropping by to check on them.