The Seventh Night (6 page)

He smiled again. “But trouble sometimes follows us, whether we wish it or not.
N’est-ce pas?
”

He held out my passport to me then, and for the first time, I saw his ring. Somehow the symbol of the snake seemed even more chilling on him, even more sinister.

And I couldn’t help remembering that once, when I’d first met him ten years ago, Reid St. Pierre had worn a ring exactly like that.

* * *

“Dr. LeClerc told me he’s released you. You can go home today,” Reid said.

Home? And where might that be? I thought dryly as I snapped the lid closed on my suitcase. Reid had walked Captain Baptiste out and had just returned a few minutes earlier. He reached around me now and lifted the suitcase with ease from the chair.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he offered. “I hadn’t planned on going back to the office, anyway.”

“Thanks. I don’t think I’m up for another cab ride just yet. Though I would like to talk to Jean Marc.”

Reid’s gaze brushed mine briefly as he headed for the door. “I can arrange that. But why not leave it till morning? You’ve had a rough day. I’ll drive you home and
get you settled in. Tomorrow we can try to sort through everything.”

Home. There it was again. Did he mean
his
home? I’d assumed he’d booked me a room at the St. Pierre. To be frank, I wasn’t even clear as to what my father’s plans had been for me. He’d been sort of vague on the phone about the arrangements. He’d been sort of vague about a lot of things. His main concern had been my getting here as quickly as possible. I couldn’t shake the notion now that he’d known he was in some kind of trouble. That was why his calls had sounded so desperate. Perhaps that was even why I’d been having the dreams.

“Are you ready to go?” Reid asked.

“Yes, but I don’t see why I can’t stay at the hotel. I don’t want to put anybody out.”

“You won’t be. Besides, you’ve had a bad shock. I’d rather you stay where we can keep an eye on you.”

Was it my imagination or had there been the slightest inflection of suspicion in his tone? It was foolish of me, of course, and I had no reason to feel ashamed, but for some reason I hated Reid knowing about Dr. Layton, hated him thinking that I might have a weakness, might somehow be inferior.

It was a feeling that made me defensive, especially when I felt his gaze raking over me, taking in the oversize, lightweight cotton sweater I wore, the modest hemline of the matching chiffon skirt that all but obscured my legs and the sensible little ballet slippers, donned for their comfort more than their grace.

His eyes lifted and once again met mine. The barest knowing smile curved his lips as he turned back toward the door. I felt myself blushing furiously. My heart bumped once, twice, against my chest before settling into its regular rhythm.

Then I picked up my purse and hurried after Reid St. Pierre.

CHAPTER THREE

“S
top!
Pull over. Hurry!”

Reid swung off the road and braked the car so suddenly my head snapped back, then forward. “What’s the matter, are you sick?”

He reached across me to open my door and I scrambled out. I heard his own door open, then slam, but I didn’t turn around, even when I sensed his presence behind me.

“Are you all right?”

“This is the place,” I said. I gave a vague, sweeping gesture with my hand toward the cemetery. In the daylight, it seemed less formidable, less frightening. The tombstones were just that—stones. A cloud of birds flew over, and a mild breeze drifted through the trees and loosened my hair. With the sea at my back, I could almost believe last night
had
been another dream.

“This is where it happened last night,” I said. Then, I added excitedly, “Look!” I bent over and retrieved several bits of broken glass that flashed and sparkled like diamonds in the light. I held them out in triumph. “See? The window
was
broken, just like I said.”

“A few pieces of broken glass hardly proves anything, Christine. We could stop anywhere on the side of the road and find glass, a lot more of it than this.”

The skepticism in his voice angered me. A lot of things about him made me angry. His arrogance was maddening. “You just don’t want to believe me,” I accused him. “It’s easier, more convenient, to pretend it
never happened.” I threw the glass down, but one of the pieces nicked the palm of my hand. “Ouch!”

“Now see what you’ve done?” His voice was admonishing but oddly gentle. “Let me see the damage.”

“It’s nothing,” I protested, but he’d already taken my hand and turned the palm upward. There was only a drop or two of blood, but he carefully wiped it away with his handkerchief. It was strange because, for just an instant, the animosity, the doubts between us, seemed to fade away. For a moment there was only softness when his eyes met mine, and something deeper, something that seemed like…interest.

“Don’t be stupid, Christine.”
It was my grandmother’s voice I heard in my head now.
“Why would a man like Reid St. Pierre want someone like you?”

I pulled my hand away and turned from his gaze, scanning the cemetery with a bleak sense of foreboding before risking another look at him. “What about my father?” I was relieved to hear my voice sounded almost normal. “You can’t explain away his disappearance as the product of a dream—or my imagination.”

His mouth thinned. “Maybe not. But I’m sure there’s an explanation just as logical.”

“Such as?”

“Maybe he forgot you were coming.”

The same thought had crossed my mind, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier. Was it possible that my father could so easily forget something that had been so vitally important to me?

“Do you really believe that?” I asked.

Reid shrugged, his gaze surveying the cemetery. The sun was setting behind us, and the tombstones cast elongated shadows across the graves. With the dying sun
came a sort of unnatural chill in the air. Or perhaps it was the topic of our conversation that had me shivering.

“Christine…” he began, trailing off in a tone that had me growing even more uneasy. His gaze shifted, touched mine, then moved away again. “In the last few months, Christopher hasn’t been himself. He’s been moody, secretive, his actions sometimes irrational. He’s been spending a great deal of time alone….” Again he hesitated, but his words filled me with dread.

“What do you mean by ‘irrational’?” I asked quietly, wondering if he was referring to my father’s recent contact with me. For some reason, I sensed Reid’s disapproval, his distrust of my motives, yet I still couldn’t understand why.

“Business decisions out of the blue that are contrary to what we’ve previously discussed, erratic hours, missed appointments…. He won’t show up at the office for days, and then suddenly, without even consulting me, he’s making decisions that could affect the whole future of the St. Pierre. I think he may have gone away now to reconsider one of his latest decisions. At least, I hope he has,” Reid said, his tone grim.

I gave him a sharp glance. “Is there any place in particular he may have gone?”

“He has a cabin up in the mountains. I’ve wondered if perhaps he’s up there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Have you called to see if he’s there?”

“There’s no phone. The cabin is completely isolated.”

“And you haven’t even bothered to check on him?”

“The last time I went up there your father made it quite clear I wasn’t needed or wanted,” Reid said bitterly. “And frankly, the thought that he really might be
there hadn’t occurred to me until now. And anyway, there isn’t a thing we can do about it tonight.”

“Why not? We can drive up there right now, make sure he’s all right. He could be sick or hurt or…” A dozen dire images flashed through my mind. I hadn’t come this far only to lose my father to Reid’s indifference and callousness. If he didn’t want to take me, I’d find someone who would.

Almost as though he were tracking my exact thoughts, Reid said impatiently, “It’ll be dark soon, and the road to the cabin is treacherous enough in daylight. We’ll have to wait until morning.”

“We can’t
afford
to wait. Something must have happened to him. That’s the only logical explanation for why he didn’t meet me at the airport yesterday. If he’s hurt or sick, he needs help now. Don’t you understand? He needs me…us. If you don’t want to go, I’ll
pay
someone to take me.”

After that singularly telling little speech, Reid frowned, the shadows deepening in his eyes. “You’re being irrational, overreacting—”

“Like father, like daughter,” I said angrily, folding my arms over my chest. “And I warn you, I can be just as stubborn.”

“Then God help us,” he muttered as he turned back to the car. “Have it your way, then. We’ll go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you to wait until daylight.”

And with his threat hanging heavy in the air between us, we climbed back into the car and slammed our doors in unison. Reid started the powerful engine, shifted into first and pulled back onto the road, laying rubber for several yards in testament to his silent anger and annoyance.

As the twilight deepened, we headed toward the mountains that loomed like giant specters on the horizon.

* * *

The road became narrow and twisting, the forest crowding us on either side. Vines with scarlet blossoms hung from the trees, their spent petals weaving a colorful Hansel and Gretel trail in the soft evening light. We circled the mountain until the Caribbean was below us again, aqua blue and dazzlingly beautiful.

I found it hard to imagine living every day with such beauty. The colors were extraordinary, rich and vibrant. The whole island seemed to pulse with an energy that was hard to explain. Just when I found myself drawn to the island, however, I would remind myself of what had happened the night before. And as if to punctuate that point, we passed a man in ragged clothing pulling a cart laden with bloody cowhides.

I flashed Reid a look, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were focused on the growing dusk. He took the hairpin curves at a breathtaking speed. Below us, the Caribbean crashed against huge boulders, tossing spindrift into the air like confetti. There was no guardrail along the road, and I shivered, thinking what one tiny miscalculation could mean.

But Reid was in full control, oblivious to—or perhaps flirting with—the danger. His large hands loosely grasped the steering wheel and gearshift as he maneuvered the car with terrifying competence.

What unnerved me even more was his silence. We went for miles without speaking, and I couldn’t help wondering what he might be contemplating, why his expression seemed so brooding as we drew farther and farther away from civilization.

Why had he been so reluctant to accompany me to
my father’s cabin? Surely he wanted to find Christopher Greggory as much as I did. Didn’t he?

The higher we climbed into the mountains, the darker and more primitive the landscape became. In spite of the light sweater I wore, I became chilled by the deep shadows. The countryside seemed sinister—no longer beautiful, but dangerous and sly. I could see now why Reid had suggested we wait until morning, but it was too late to heed his warning. He was already pulling the car off the road.

So dense was the forest that it took me a minute to see the lane that wove its way into the trees. Reid cut the engine and without saying one word, leaned over and fished a flashlight out of the glove compartment. His hand brushed my knees, and a funny little thrill of excitement raced up my leg.

He straightened, opened his door, and got out of the car. Reluctantly, I did the same, but the butterflies in my stomach refused to settle. My awareness of him was becoming annoying, an irritant.

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” he said, throwing me a veiled look as I rounded the car to join him. “Sure you’re up to it?”

I wasn’t sure of anything at this point, but I wouldn’t admit it to him. Besides, my concern for my father outweighed my fears. I had to find him, see for myself if he was all right.

“Let’s go” was all I said. Then I followed Reid into the shadowy lane that would hopefully lead us to my father.

It was early yet, too early for the moon, but the thick canopy of leaves blocked the remaining light, except for sporadic patches now and then that guided us. Leaves rustled in the underbrush as tiny feet scurried away from
us, and every once in a while, I could see glowing eyes deep within the shadows.

In spite of his silence, I was glad for Reid’s presence. He strode along the darkened path as though nothing or no one would dare touch him, and I hurried to follow in his footsteps.

At last we reached the cabin. It stood in a little clearing, basking in the last rays of light. The woods had been chopped away to make a tiny yard, but already vines were slinking across the raked lawn, and here and there saplings sprang up like soldiers spawned from the hydra’s teeth.

We reached the cabin’s porch and climbed up the steps, but I knew already my father wasn’t inside. The place had the lonely feel of abandonment, and as Reid tried the door, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering with disappointment.

The door was unlocked, and we both went inside. Reid lit a candle that had been left behind, and the room flickered to life. The cabin was sparsely furnished with one leather sofa facing a stone fireplace, a daybed with a patchwork quilt sitting against one wall and an old battered desk shoved against another. There was no kitchen to speak of, and, I assumed, no plumbing. It was definitely a place one would come to “rough it” and it hardly fit the image I had of my father—suave, sophisticated and very urbane.

“What does he do up here?”

Reid shrugged as he inspected the cabin. “Communes with nature, meditates, writes his memoirs. Who knows? He rarely confides in me.”

There was a photo on the desk, and I picked it up, studying it in the dim, flickering light. Although I’d never seen her before, I knew immediately it was Claudine
St. Pierre Greggory, the woman who had stolen my father from my mother.

I was amazed at the bitterness that welled up inside me. I thought I’d dealt with those feelings years ago, but seeing her beautiful, smiling face—even though she had died a few years earlier—still conjured those terrible feelings of resentment and betrayal deep within me.