The Butler's Daughter (16 page)

“I hope you're not suggesting I jump in a boat and head out onto the river. I know as much about boats as I know about camping, Hunter. I'm not even a very strong swimmer.”

He smiled, remembering her idea of camping. He'd make a point of teaching her some basic boating skills. “Live with me long enough and you'll discover I always have a backup plan.”

“Tell me something I don't already know,” she said, looking less than amused. “What's the backup plan?”

“Head through the woods to the western tip of the island. There's a rocky point. You'll see a sundial and a bench. The sundial faces north. Walk fifty-three paces southwest from the sundial and you'll spot a chip in the rock face that looks like an arrowhead. Just to the right you'll find a slit in the rock face. Slide your fingers in that slit and pull. It's actually a door. The cave is stocked for emergencies. Hide out there until I come for you.”

A worried frown crossed her face. “Now I'm wishing
I'd accepted Lars's offer of a tour of the island today—I only went as far as the garden. I'm not even sure which cottage is which.”

He touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb and felt her jump at his touch. “Relax. I told you this so you'd know what to do—just in case. Windermere has the star-shaped window in its tower. Chelsea has the twin scalloped-shaped windows. If you're out wandering by yourself or with the boys, stay away from the shore. The current is strong. Can you remember all that?”

“Wife, fifty-three paces southwest, look for the arrowhead. Got it.” Her mahogany eyes searched his face, concern evident in their shadowy depths. “Hurry back, okay?”

He squeezed her shoulders. “I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon. I'll be back.”

He regretted the words almost instantly.

The warmth evaporated from her expression and she stepped away from him abruptly. “Just remember you said that. Not me.”

 

S
HE COULDN'T SLEEP
. Memories of last night played along her nerves, making the idea of sleep impossible. The house, without Hunter's reassuring presence, seemed full of strange sounds in the dark. Just after eleven she heard a helicopter land, likely Brook returning from her long day at the head office of Clairmont Hotels. Juliana was tempted to go downstairs to greet her and offer to make a cup of tea for them both, but didn't want to intrude. Brook was probably tired.

Juliana wasn't sure when she drifted off, but a small noise woke her just after 3:00 a.m. She lay in bed listening, trying to determine the source of the sound. Had Hunter already returned with Annette? She hadn't heard the helicopter.

The muffled squeak of a door hinge reached her ears. She heard a definite footfall that sounded as if it were coming from the direction of Hunter's suite. Had he gone into her dressing room via the corridor that connected their suites to check on Cort?

Juliana climbed out of bed, anxious to reassure herself that he was home safely and Annette was comfortably installed in the guest house. “Hunter?” she called softly, padding toward her dressing room where Cort slept.

There was no response.

Thinking he hadn't heard, she called again softly.

She heard a faint audible click like a lock being set.

It was then she realized that the connecting door that led to her dressing room was closed. How odd, she'd left it open before she'd gone to bed so she could hear Cort.

Had Hunter closed it? She turned the knob.

It was locked from the other side.

Her heart started to pound. She rapped her knuckles lightly on the door. “Hunter, open the door please!”

There was still no answer.

An ill feeling stuck between her shoulder blades. She slapped her palm against the door, the fear of waking Cort the least of her concerns. “Hunter, you hear me? Open this door!”

The racket she made roused Cort. At least his plaintive wail was reassuring. But she wasn't going to feel better until she had her baby safely in her arms. And to think her gun was in her purse high on the shelf in her dressing room!

Fear chasing her heels, she ran out of her room and into the hall. Down at the end of the corridor a shadow seemed to move, but her mother's instinct to go to Cort was stronger than the desire to investigate the shadow. The door to Hunter's suite stood open. His bed was undisturbed. He wasn't back yet.

The door to the connecting corridor was also open. Juliana rushed into the corridor, turning on lights. To her relief, Cort was in his crib in the dressing room on his hands and knees, his bum jutting up into the air, cranky sobs shaking his tiny body.

“I'm here, pumpkin. Mommy's here now,” she said, shushing him as she lifted him into her arms. She tucked his favorite blanket around him and marched into Hunter's room. Snatching the phone from its cradle, she punched the button to summon Lars.

“Lars, I need help,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Someone entered Hunter's room a few minutes ago—and it wasn't Hunter.”

Wrapped in Hunter's bathrobe to take the chill off, Juliana was pacing back and forth in Hunter's room, trying to put Cort back to sleep when Lars arrived. He'd pulled on jeans and a T-shirt that revealed muscles layered one atop the other like scoops of hard-packed ice cream. She felt moderately better. He wasn't Hunter, but he'd do in a pinch.

“What happened?”

She calmly explained.

Lars examined the door. “It was probably Parrish.”

“Parrish?”

“He has monster nightmares and he probably came to get Hunter to chase them out a window. Happens at least three times a month. This door has never been unlocked and he knows it stays locked and that he's not allowed in there. The boys don't respect many rules, but they do know that Hunter's office, that room and the greenhouse are off limits. Parrish probably saw the door was open and locked it, then got scared when he heard your voice. I'll go check on him.”

Juliana breathed a sigh of relief as she massaged Cort's
back. “Thank heavens that's all it was. Please tell Parrish I'm sorry I scared him.”

She'd crawled into Hunter's bed with Cort snuggled beside her and was dozing off when a discreet tap sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called softly.

Lars stuck his head into the room. “Thought you'd want to know that Parrish did have a nightmare.”

“Thank you, Lars.”

“Sleep well, madam.”

“I will once my husband gets home.” Juliana kissed Cort's downy head and smiled into the darkness, taking comfort from being in Hunter's room, among his things, in his bed.

She'd go back to her own bed once he returned.

 

H
UNTER'S PLAN TO RETRIEVE
Annette was put on hold by a phone call from his operative who'd located the Collingwoods' cook, Nonnie Wilson, at a New Age retreat in a small Quebec village about one hundred kilometers east of Ottawa.

“There's more,” Edwards told him. “The sous-chef told me Nonnie has a thriving catering business on the side. Does the odd special job for some of the Collingwoods' friends and associates. The Collingwoods didn't seem to mind as long as it didn't affect her responsibilities to them.”

“Did the sous-chef mention any names?”

“Several. Simon Findlay, David Younge and Sable Holden.”

Hunter didn't need to think twice about making a detour to Canada. He called Investigator Bradshaw and told him he'd personally escort the cook back to New York.

Then he called the operative assigned to Simon Findlay. “What's Findlay been up to lately?” he demanded.

“Right now, he's having dinner with his fiancée and another woman at Tavern on the Green. The fiancée's a looker, if you know what I mean. I gotta say, for a man who buried his boss yesterday, Findlay looks very happy. He just ordered a bottle of champagne.”

“Who's the other woman?”

“I don't know. But I'm on it, boss.”

“Let me know as soon as you find out.”

Hunter dropped the cell phone back into his pocket and massaged his temples. So many leads. So many possibilities.

He just had to stay focused.

He'd deal with Nonnie Wilson first.

Full-figured, with an unruly mop of corkscrew curls, Ms. Wilson was not thrilled about having her Ayurvedic massage cut short. She stormed into the Indian-style lodge wearing a thick white bathrobe and leopard-print slippers. “This had better be important,” she told him.

Hunter led her to a pair of chairs in a quiet corner and introduced himself as The Guardian.

“I've heard of you,” Nonnie said impatiently. “Don't tell me Mr. Collingwood changed his mind about giving me this week off and sent you to find me. Doesn't anyone understand that I need this time to balance myself spiritually, emotionally and mentally? Hands are the servant of the brain.”

“Have you watched the news lately, Ms. Wilson?”

She looked at him as if he didn't have a brain. “No. What's the point of going on a retreat to escape the outside world if you bring it with you?”

“I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood died tragically last Friday evening. The funeral was Wednesday.”

Nonnie let out a high-pitched squeak that raised the skin
on the back of his neck and brought the clerk at the desk running to inquire if everything was all right. Hunter dispatched the clerk to fetch Nonnie a glass of water.

“The police have been searching for you. They'd like to ask you some questions.”

Her face turned pasty. “Me? Why?”

“The Collingwoods were murdered in an explosion. Your unexplained disappearance suggests you may have been involved.”

“That's ridiculous. Why would I kill them? Do you have any idea how much money they pay me?”

Probably far more than she was humanly worth, Hunter guessed, judging from her lack of emotion over her employers' deaths. “When did you speak to the Collingwoods last?”

“Thursday morning. Mrs. Collingwood came into the kitchen with a beautiful smile on her face and told me that she and Mr. Collingwood were going on an unexpected trip and I could enjoy a much deserved holiday.”

“Did Mrs. Collingwood mention their destination?”

“No.”

Her pencil-thin brows drew together with mounting alarm. “Did you say the funeral was Wednesday? That can't be. Was there a reception? Who prepared the food? Why was
I
not contacted?”

“Did you leave a number with someone?”

“Yes. With Goodhew.”

“He was injured in the explosion and is still in the hospital in a coma.”

Nonnie took this news as if it were another inconvenience to her personally. “I suppose this means I'm unemployed.”

“I'm sure a chef of your renown will have offers to choose from. Perhaps Mr. Findlay or Mr. Younge—or even
Ms. Holden—will snap you up? I understand you've catered private functions for them?”

“Only Mr. Findlay's engagement party and a birthday party for Mrs. Younge. She loves my vegetarian torta, and I'm the only chef she trusts implicitly with her special dietary needs.”

“What about Ms. Holden?”

“That woman?
Please!
She had a red aura around her that was too draining. I met with her once to discuss the possibility of a small dinner party—six guests—but I couldn't work under those conditions.”

He didn't trust a word out of Nonnie's mouth. Maybe Investigator Bradshaw would get more out of her. He told her to pack her things. He was taking her back to New York tonight.

“But I'm supposed to have my Shirodara treatment! It has to be left on overnight.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience. But I'm sure you don't want to keep the police or the network entertainment shows waiting. There's been a lot of speculation about your disappearance.”

That perked up her attitude. He gave her a ten-minute head start, then went to the desk to settle her bill. He studied the computer printout of her room charges. Just as he'd hoped, Nonnie had made a brief long-distance phone call the minute she'd returned to her room.

He punched the number into his cell phone.

“Younge residence,” a tense female voice said.

He hung up thoughtfully. Was Nonnie the mole in the Collingwood staff?

 

H
UNTER WASN'T BACK
by morning.

Cort woke her just before seven with a ditty of vowel sounds, his blue eyes joyous as a sunny day. Juliana shared
a morning cuddle with him, peppering him with kisses. Oh, she loved him! She couldn't even remotely consider taking care of him as being a sacrifice on her part. He was such a good baby!

She promised herself and she promised Lexi that Cort would have a happy life. Lexi had embraced life, lived it with courage in the face of losing her first child, and Juliana would do no less in her memory. Even if it meant accepting that Hunter would never love her the way she loved him.

Reaching for the phone, she called the hospital and checked on her father. There was still no change in his condition. But she wasn't giving up hope. She asked Hunter's operative to hold the phone to her father's ear and talked to him for a few minutes, telling him that Gord was coming for another visit tonight and would stay nearby over the weekend.

She prayed that even though he was unconscious her father would be reassured by her voice and that it would make a difference in his recovery.

She debated calling Hunter on his cell phone, then decided he would call if he was going to be delayed much longer.

She brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Still wearing Hunter's bathrobe and her slippers, she followed the scent of coffee downstairs.

The household was awake and lively. As she reached the foyer she could hear Mackensie and Parrish making engine noises in the morning room and the clink of dishes in the kitchen.

As she entered the morning room, Brook glanced up from the table where she was reviewing Mackensie's homework. “Good morning.” Her expression instantly turned contrite. “Oh, dear. You look as if you could use a cup of
coffee. I'm sorry about last night. I was so tired I didn't hear Parrish get up and neither did Prudy.”