Share No Secrets (6 page)

Inside, Adrienne locked the front door, which normally she never did when she was home during the day. She felt shaky, weak, nervous, and slightly disoriented, as if she’d been up for twenty-four hours straight and run a marathon as well. She couldn’t ever remember feeling as physically drained as she did at this moment.

Skye looked at her helplessly. “All I want to do is lie down on the couch, but I feel like we should be doing something important.”

“Such as?” Adrienne asked tiredly.

“Calling Julianna’s mother?”

“The police will inform Lottie Brent. I couldn’t bear to tell her anyway,” Adrienne said. “She adored Julianna.”

“What about Julianna’s sister?”

“I think the police or Lottie should tell Gail. She’s never liked me,” Adrienne said. “She thought I was jealous of Julianna. I believe hearing the news from me would be even worse for her. She’s so different from Julianna.”

“But she likes Kit.” Skye’s eyes widened. “Mom, when we saw Mr. and Mrs. Kirkwood at the Belle this morning, Mrs. Kirkwood said she hadn’t talked to Kit. Maybe Kit still doesn’t know what happened to Julianna and it would be awful if she heard from someone else.”

Adrienne stood quietly for a moment, thinking. Or rather, dreading. Skye was right. She should be the one to tell Kit of their friend’s death. But it wasn’t just a death, which would be bad enough. It was a murder. How could she break the news to Kit without upsetting her too much? There was no way. Besides, Kit had always been the strongest of the three of them. She could probably handle the tragedy better than Adrienne was doing.

Adrienne glanced at her watch. It was just after eleven. Kit would be at her restaurant getting ready for the lunch crowd. With almost dragging steps, she went to the phone and dialed the number of the restaurant After two rings, a cheerful, young female voice said, “The Iron Gate. May I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with Ms. Kirkwood.”

“I’m sorry but she’s not in. May I take your name and have her call you back?”

Adrienne knew Kit often used this excuse when she was too busy to come to the phone. “My name is Adrienne Reynolds. I’m a very close friend of Kit’s and there’s something important I need to tell her. Even if she’s busy, please ask her to come to the phone.”

“Ms. Reynolds, she’s
really
not here. I’ve worked here a year and I’ve never known her not to be in at this hour, but she called in and said she had something to do and she couldn’t come in until this afternoon.” The girl’s tone was sincere. “I’m sorry. I can leave a message for her.”

“That’s all right. I’ll try her cell phone. Thank you…”

“I’m Polly. You’re welcome. And good luck.”

Adrienne tried Kit’s home number and connected only with the answering machine. She left a message asking Kit to call her back. She then tried Kit’s cell phone with no luck.

“She’s certainly incommunicado,” Adrienne said, looking at Skye. “That’s not like her.”

“Maybe she just decided to blow off the day—go shopping or something without being bothered.”

“Go shopping on a day when the restaurant is open? I don’t think so. She believes the place will fall apart if she’s not there supervising everything.”

“I guess she doesn’t feel that way today. You don’t think she’s sick, do you?”

“She’d be home.” Adrienne thought. “Ellen has probably called her by now and Kit is with her mother but not answering her cell phone.”

Skye looked at her gloomily. “This morning Mrs. Kirkwood looked so awful and she barely talked to us. What happened today sure isn’t going to convince her not to tear down the Belle.”

“It’s like one final sign that the place needs to be destroyed if you believe in portents and omens and things like that.”

“Mrs. Kirkwood does.”

“With a vengeance. And frankly, after today, I know I’d never be able to enjoy the place again.”

In fact, Adrienne had a slightly ill, repulsed feeling, as if she’d participated in something foul and shameful. Her fingers still tingled with the sensation of touching Julianna’s cooling skin and of looking into that beautiful face stilled by death.

But she had to think of Skye. She could not let herself fall apart and leave Skye to process the shock of the morning all alone.

Adrienne forced a smile. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to turn this into a nice afternoon, but in spite of everything, I’m hungry. How would you like some chicken salad sandwiches on the terrace?”

Skye looked relieved, as if she’d been afraid her mother was simply going to collapse, and she managed an imitation of her usual exuberant tone. “I would
love
one.”

“You know, Vicky and I ate chicken salad sandwiches all the time when we were young,” Adrienne said as Skye followed her into the periwinkle-blue and yellow kitchen with a giant red begonia hanging above a window. “Mom said we were addicted to them.”

“At her parties, Aunt Vicky serves fancy food that doesn’t nearly fill me up.”

“You’ve become a regular at the parties she gives now that Philip has decided to run for governor.”

“Aunt Vicky gets pretty mad that you don’t come to them.”

“I’m a disaster at political social functions. I have a tendency to say exactly what I think to the wrong people. I don’t know about Vicky, but I’m sure Philip is relieved that I don’t come.”

“He lets a kid like me come, but I think that’s because Rachel insists. She thinks the parties are
really
boring. Her boyfriend Bruce comes, but he talks to everyone just like Uncle Philip does. She says I keep her company. We giggle about everybody.”

“How polite of you.”

“Well, not to their faces, Mom!”

“I didn’t think so, or you wouldn’t be invited so often. Philip wouldn’t let anyone mess up his events, no matter what Rachel wants.”

“Rachel says what Uncle Philip really wants is to be president of the United States someday.”

“He always has. But I don’t think Vicky especially wants to be first lady. When they got married, she thought she’d enjoy the campaign life. I believe she’s changed her mind, though. It’s a much bigger strain than she thought it would be.”

Their usual easy chattiness soon died, however. Time once again seemed suspended for her as she and Skye sat under the big oak tree overhanging the flagstone terrace. Skye watched a mother robin bringing worms to her squawking babies in a high nest. “I hope none of them fall on the terrace stones when they start trying to fly.”

“That hardly ever happens.”

“It did two years ago,” Skye pointed out. “Remember those awful noises the mother bird made when she saw her baby dead? She sounded like she was crying. Wailing.” Skye shivered slightly. “I’m going to put my inflatable pool float on the stones right under the nest. That way if any of the babies fall, they won’t get hurt.”

“That’s a good idea,” Adrienne said, noting her daughter’s preoccupation with death. First she’d brought up the death of Ellen Kirkwood’s adopted son Jamie last summer, now the baby robin. But who could blame her? No fourteen-year-old should see the horror Skye had seen this morning.

Adrienne had just forced down another bite of sandwich she didn’t want when a girl’s cheerful “Hi, you two!” startled her into dropping her food.

“Rachel!” she exclaimed in surprise and pleasure. She hadn’t seen her niece for a couple of weeks and didn’t hear her light footsteps as she approached them on the terrace. “Shouldn’t you be slaving away at the
Point Pleasant Register?”

“They have this silly idea they can put out the evening edition without me.” Rachel tweaked Skye’s hair and grinned at her. “Did you add blond highlights?”

“No, the sun did.”

“They look fabulous. I wish my hair was as light as yours.”

“It’s almost the same color,” Skye said. “Just a couple of shades darker.”

At twenty, Rachel Hamilton was tall and slender with long ash-blond hair, large dark blue eyes with sweeping black lashes, flawless skin, a beautiful smile, and cheekbones a model would envy. In fact, she’d been offered modeling jobs, but she’d always declined. She was far more interested in sports—particularly tennis, at which she excelled—and college, where she was a journalism major between her junior and senior years. This summer she had an internship at the
Point Pleasant Register.

Skye idolized her elder cousin. Rachel was a heady mixture of beauty, brilliance, athletic prowess, and sophistication. Although Vicky always said Rachel’s “terrible twos” had lasted for four years until school captured her interest and abruptly stopped a long bout of sulking and tantrums, Adrienne never remembered Rachel going through an awkward stage physically or socially. Ever since she was six, she’d been lovely and poised, the perfect daughter for Adrienne’s politician brother-in-law, Philip Hamilton. But perhaps Rachel’s greatest charm was the fact that she seemed unaware of how special and accomplished she was. Her manner was casual and unassuming, completely without pretense.

“How about a sandwich? I made too many.” Adrienne held out the plate and Rachel took one. “So, how is my sister? I haven’t talked to her for a few days.”

Rachel shrugged. “Mom’s all caught up in Dad’s campaigning. Things are really hectic. The house is like Mission Control at Cape Canaveral.” Skye giggled and Rachel grinned at her. “Of course, the election is over a year away. I can’t imagine what home life will be like this time next summer. Thank goodness I’ll be gone.”

“But after your college graduation you’ll be free to go on the campaign trail with your mom and dad,” Skye said.

“I guess I could.” Rachel looked into the distance, prankishness in her eyes. “Or I might run off to Cannes or Venice with some completely unsuitable guy. A devilishly handsome gigolo with no regard for the flag, apple pie, or the American way. He’ll just want to sunbathe and go yachting and take me to elegant gambling casinos every night and drive my parents totally crazy!”

“Really?” Skye asked in wonder.

“No, not really.” Adrienne smiled. “Rachel would never do anything to displease her father, and believe me,
that
would displease him!”

“An understatement if ever there was one,” Rachel agreed. “But it’d be fun to do something shocking sometime.”

“Wait until after Philip wins the election to do something shocking,” Adrienne advised. “If you do something to screw up the campaign, you might find yourself written out of the will. Besides, I think your father has his heart set on you marrying Bruce Allard.”

“Oh, Bruce,” Rachel said without enthusiasm. “Four years older than I am and son of one of the
town’s finest
families. The perfect catch.”

“Well, he
is
cute,” Skye offered.

“But boring,” Rachel stated.

Adrienne peered over the rim of her coffee cup. “Just because he doesn’t dream of casino-hopping doesn’t mean he’s a bore. He works at the newspaper, the same as you. You must have things in common.”

“Brace’s father
owns
the newspaper. He’s just marking time there because his father wants him to have a taste of ‘the real world’ before he takes over someday. Not that he has the slightest interest in newspapers. He talks about the stock market all the time.
All the time.
He thinks art is a waste of time, Aunt Adrienne. He can’t dance. And he wants six kids.” Rachel turned horrified eyes to Skye. “Six
kids!
What about my waistline? My
thighs?
I’d always be in maternity clothes and have a permanent spot of baby spit-up on my shoulder.” She clapped a hand to her heart and looked upward. “Oh, heaven help me, marriage to Bruce is just too unbearable to even contemplate!”

Skye burst into laughter, as Rachel buried her head in her arms in mock despair. Adrienne knew Skye felt included and like a grown-up when Rachel discussed boyfriends with her. And although Rachel had made fun of what seemed to be a very nice and proper young man, Adrienne didn’t feel guilty for laughing along if Rachel could get even a smile out of Skye on such a sad day.

After the excitement of the morning, Brandon had been nearly comatose on his giant plaid dog cushion in front of the living room fireplace. In the winter, he lay for hours staring steadily at the flames and sparks behind the screen. In the summer, he lay for hours staring into the empty fireplace. Skye insisted that at these times he was having deep thoughts. Adrienne thought he was just acting weird to get attention. However, he was extremely sociable and had roused himself at the sound of a guest’s voice that had floated into the house through the open terrace door. He lumbered outside, already growing stiff from his morning of unaccustomed rowdiness, sat down beside Rachel, and offered her his paw.

“How do you do, sir?” Rachel gravely shook his paw. “You look especially spiffy with that red bandana around your neck.”

“He was bathed and groomed at Happy Tracks yesterday,” Skye said, smiling. “The groomer always ties on a bandana, but it got a tear in it this morning when he was running through the woods at the Belle.”

Adrienne looked at Rachel. She rubbed the dime-sized strawberry birthmark beside her right earlobe, a mark she usually hid with concealer. She only touched the mark when she was nervous, but her expression showed no surprise, and Adrienne suddenly understood the reason for her niece’s midday visit. The
Point Pleasant Register
editor, Drew Delaney, must have found out that she and Skye had been the ones who discovered Julianna’s body and sent her over.

“Rachel, let me guess,” she said casually. “Mr. Delaney is at la Belle Rivière as we speak.”

Rachel nodded reluctantly, then added with some aplomb, “He
is
the newspaper editor. Where would you expect him to be when there’s been a murder?”

“Exactly where he is. But he told you to come here and find out what you could from Skye and me, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” She colored slightly, then gave her aunt a sincerely regretful look. “I wish I could tell you that I argued with him about trying to get information from you, but I didn’t. The murder of Julianna Brent is the biggest thing to happen in Point Pleasant all year. I’m ashamed to admit this to you because I liked Julianna although I hardly knew her, but I’d like to get a scoop on this. Bylines on stories about an event this sensational could get me a great job at an important newspaper next year.”