Wait Until Dark (8 page)

"No," Stuart bit out.

"Tracy?"

She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "Three
A.M.?
I'm generally asleep around then. I save my threatening calls for morning."

"So you had nothing to do with it?"

"No, she didn't," Stuart answered for her. "Neither of us did."

"Interesting." Nicholas polished off his merlot. "That doesn't leave many suspects."

"It must have been a reporter. Word of Lindsey must have already leaked out." Stuart raked a hand through his hair. "Dammit."

"A reporter?" Lindsey echoed in disbelief. "Why would a reporter threaten me?"

"You're pathetically naive," Tracy announced, that arrogant glint back in her eyes. "A reporter would do that to get a reaction. A reaction would mean a story. Why else?"

Lindsey digested that bizarre possibility. A story? The idea had never occurred to her. But knowing the press's fixation with the Falkners, anything was possible.

She studied Tracy and Stuart's reactions, thinking how ironic the world they lived in was. They were more worried about bad publicity than they were about potential bodily harm being done to another person. Still, Lindsey couldn't help but note Stuart's very genuine concern. His values might all be screwed up, but she doubted he was behind that phone call. Not unless he was one hell of a fine actor.

As for Tracy, she was impossible to read. She looked upset, her jaw clenched tight and her expression icy. What that meant was anyone's guess.

There was no way to prove anything.

The whole scenario was just too sordid for Lindsey's tastes. She'd had enough.

Tossing down her napkin, she rose. "I think we've said all there is to say."

Stuart's head snapped up. "What about the manor? Will you think about what I've said, maybe change your mind? That phone call should have clinched it for you."

Her brows arched, "Why? You just said whoever called was probably with the press. Which would mean I'm not in any danger, right?"

"Not physically. But if that was the press, it's just the first of many crank reporters who'll be on your doorstep night and day when this story leaks out. Your life will never be your own."

Lindsey pressed her lips together. "I'll take that chance. As for our mothers, mine is like me. She's strong. She's been through too much not to be. She'd thumb her nose at the world and say keep the manor. And yours? My guess is our father thought his wife could handle this. Otherwise, he never would have left me the manor." She scooped up her purse. "Honestly, Stuart, I think you're overreacting. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just to put your mind at ease. I'll give this Dr. Farley a call, explain my position, and hear what he has to say. If anything changes my decision, I'll let you know." She pushed back her chair and stood. "Tell him to expect my call. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back."

A quick glance at Nicholas. "I'll catch a cab."

"No need." He rose, his expression pensive. "I'll drive you."

"Nicholas, talk to her," Stuart hissed, as Nicholas went to follow Lindsey out.

Nicholas paused, his brooding stare shifting from Stuart to Tracy and back. "I intend to."

Stuart stared after Nicholas's retreating figure, muttering a curse under his breath. "We have a problem. Farley's never going to go along with this."

"We have a bigger problem " Tracy commented, resting her elbows on the table. "It seems our dear friend Nicholas has defected."

10

LINDSEY WAS GLAD THE CONTRACTORS
were experienced, because she was in no condition to supervise their work. In fact, she was in no condition to deal with anyone.

The drive back to the manor was silent, with Nicholas leveling frequent probing glances in her direction. She felt his scrutiny, knew he was eager to talk. But she had too much to digest before she did. So she averted her face, letting him know she wasn't ready to discuss what had happened at lunch. He respected her wishes, at least for the time being, and bit back his thoughts. He even went so far as to drive her around to the manor's front door, and yet make no move to accompany her inside. He said nothing when she thanked him for the ride, but he did stop her as she groped for the door handle, holding her arm long enough to say he'd call her later. She nodded, feeling his brooding stare as she jumped out and darted up the stairs and into the house. He gazed after her for a few long minutes before finally driving off.

She hung around long enough to chat with the project foreman, who was covered with plaster as he stood under the scaffolding positioned in the manor's two-story foyer, directing traffic as his workers tore down the wall that separated the front sitting room and the salon. The house was bustling, with the electrical contractor checking out the wiring he needed to reroute, and construction workers retrieving tools and equipment, or clustered around the walls designated to come down, breaking off chunks of plaster.

Seeing how smoothly everything was running, Lindsey left, driving directly to Nicholas's house. She felt unusually jumpy, and she kept looking in her rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. Nope. Only the steady flow of residential traffic. Too many spy movies, she chided herself wryly. And too little sleep.

Then again, that wasn't a surprise under the circumstances. After all, she wasn't used to receiving threatening phone calls and attempted payoffs. No wonder her nerves were shot.

She drove up Nicholas's driveway and around to the front of the house, reflexively checking over her shoulder as she got out of the car to see if she was being watched. Nothing and no one. She walked up the stairs and let herself in, leaning back wearily against the door. Time to think of something pleasant.

She forced herself to focus on her surroundings, taking her first really good look at Nicholas's home.

It was a class act, just like its owner, she mused. All subtle tones of brown and beige, and refined touches she suspected were a combination of Nicholas's tastes and a decorator's skills. The lower level, complete with a winding staircase, contained a massive great room, and an equally impressive dining room and kitchen. The upper level, as she'd seen earlier when she changed clothes for lunch, held the bedrooms. The house had an open, airy feel to it, its polished oak floors and marble fireplace adding an elegant touch to its clean-lined, uncluttered furnishings. Cozy accents like a thick-cushioned futon and twin leather recliners in the great room - not to mention an impressive sound system - made the place feel lived-in, more like a retreat and less like the high-priced piece of real estate Lindsey's practiced eye told her it was.

She climbed the stairs, peeking into the huge master bedroom suite before turning in the opposite direction. When they'd dropped by earlier, Nicholas had urged her to make herself comfortable, to treat the place as if it were her own. Regardless, she wasn't about to use his room. Instead, she'd selected the second of the other three bedrooms - a sizable guest room done in shades of teal, with lots of windows and an adjoining bathroom. She went there now, cutting across the bedroom to hover in the bathroom doorway. The tub looked too inviting to resist, and she reached for her suitcase, tugging out what she needed and changing into a robe before heading off for a long, hot soak.

Five minutes later, she sank into the tub, letting the warm water envelop her, wash the tension from her muscles.

While she relaxed, she reviewed everything that had happened at lunch, more confused than ever by her half-siblings and their motives. Correction: not the motives themselves, but to what extremes those motives would drive them.

They wanted her gone. That much was as obvious now as it had been from day one. Were they behind that phone call she'd gotten? Was today's lunch simply a ploy to see if their scare tactics had worked? And, as a backup plan, had they elicited the help of a doctor to gain her compassion and send her packing?

It was sickening to think that anyone, even the Falkners, could convince a doctor to compromise his ethics and lie. Then again, they had untold wealth, power and influence. They probably contributed millions a year to Rolling Hills. That kind of money bought a lot of loyalty.

On the flip side, Stuart hadn't looked happy when she'd called his bluff, announced she'd be contacting Dr. Farley. So maybe the doctor wasn't involved. Maybe Stuart had made up the whole story.

She'd find out soon enough. She'd call Dr. Farley the minute she got out of the tub. If she jumped on this, Stuart wouldn't have time to prep the doctor for her call. She'd checkmate her half-brother, beat him at his own game.

That idea was scrapped a half-hour later when she phoned Rolling Hills, only to learn that Dr. Farley was off this week and wouldn't be available until Monday. Coincidence? Maybe.

Feeling restless and out of sorts, Lindsey pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, then glanced at the bedroom clock. Five-thirty. Most of the workers would be gone, but a few of them, including the foreman, would still be finishing up. She'd kill some time before heading over there.

She perched at the edge of a chair and wrote a postcard to her mother in Paris - a cheery note that didn't so much as hint at anything unpleasant. She stamped it and scooped up her purse. She'd drive to the post office and drop the postcard in its outside mailbox. After that, she'd grab a sandwich, stroll around the more touristy area of Newport, then drive back to the site and check out the day's work. By that time she'd have the solitude she needed to properly assess how things were going. Hopefully, she'd also have worked off her restlessness, and would feel renewed and calmer.

It was almost eight o'clock when she rounded the drive to the manor. Dusk was settling over the area, but the sky wasn't completely dark yet, and there was more than enough light for her to see her surroundings. The top of the driveway was devoid of trucks, and the house was quiet, a sign that all the workers had gone home.

Good. She'd look over the place, see where the restoration was heading and if it coincided with the finished product she visualized in her mind's eye.

Again, she paused when she got out of the car, glancing around to see if she was alone. But the sensation of being watched was no longer there. Thank heavens.

She let herself in, for once grateful that workers always seemed to leave a slew of lights on when they went home at day's end. In this case, walking into a brightly lit manor was a welcome relief. It made her feel less vulnerable. Just to be safe, however, she locked the door before strolling through the entranceway and across the main level.

To the layperson's eye, the place was in shambles. There was plaster dust everywhere, along with woodplanks, nails, and tools. She ignored the mess, stepping over everything and scanning the area, studying it through narrowed eyes. The work had progressed beautifully for day one. The kitchen had been ripped out and was down to bare studs. The plumbing fixtures in the downstairs bathrooms had been removed. And the wall separating the sitting room and salon was completely gone, the scaffolding having been moved to the other side of the house where the wall dividing the conservatory into two smaller greenhouse-type rooms was scheduled to be torn down first thing tomorrow.

Lindsey walked in that direction, imagining her mother's excitement when she saw the grand, fabulous conservatory that would soon be hers. She'd be in her glory. Starting this year, she'd be able to indulge in her beloved gardening even during New England's most brutal winters.

The door leading to the first greenhouse was shut, and there was no light peeking out from under it, almost as if the room had yet to be disturbed. That was odd. Usually, an experienced construction crew set up the next area in which they'd be working before they left, so everything would be ready to go when they arrived in the morning. She hoped the crew wasn't running behind schedule, although she saw no signs that they were. The sitting room wall was already down, and the scaffolding had been moved into its new position.

She eased open the door and peeked inside. Ah, false alarm. Everything was as it should be. All the necessary tools and drop cloths had been lined up neatly for tomorrow's leveling project. For whatever reason, someone had just thought to turn off the light and shut the door behind him.

She was just about to retrace her steps when she felt the vibrations above her, heard the sound of grating metal. Her head jerked up, and her eyes widened as she saw the oncoming disaster.

She turned and lunged into the hall, barely clearing the point of impact. Dropping into a squat, she curled close to the wall, covering her head for protection.

An instant later the entire scaffolding crashed to the floor.

Lindsey didn't move until the deafening noise had stopped. Then she rose, her legs shaking as she pivoted to survey the damage. The floor was a mass of wood and metal. A few seconds earlier and she'd have been part of that mangled heap. The whole structure would have caved in on her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, whether to shut out the sight or her thoughts, she wasn't sure.

Had this been an accident, or an attempt to hurt her? She'd never seen scaffolding give way like that, certainly not from the mere vibration of a door.

A door she'd been puzzled to find shut.

Sell the manor,
her ominous phone caller had demanded.
You'll get rich and stay healthy.

Dear God, had that actually been a threat on her life?

She had to get out of here.

The drive back to Nicholas's house was a blur. Lindsey's hand shook as she unlocked the door, and she double-bolted it behind her.

She went into the great room, dropped onto the futon. Maybe she should call the police. But what would she report? That she'd been the victim of a threatening phone call and a near-miss? One could be a crank, the other a construction accident.

No. There wasn't any proof. And they'd ask lots of questions - questions that would open up a big-time can of worms that would result in scandal and social embarrassment for the Falkners. She couldn't be responsible for that, not without hard evidence.

But in her gut she knew what had just happened was no accident. Skilled and experienced professionals such as the contractors she'd hired didn't make these mistakes. That scaffolding had to have been tampered with for it to collapse like that.

Which meant someone was setting a trap for the next person who touched the greenhouse door.

Tracy and Stuart both knew that someone was she.

Today at lunch, she'd specifically mentioned her intentions to go back to the manor tonight. Then she'd sensed that someone was following her. Had either one or both her half-siblings hired someone to keep track of her whereabouts and leave a surprise welcome for her when she dropped by the manor this evening?

If so, this was no longer a game of cat and mouse. This was a cold-blooded attempt to hurt her. To hurt her - or worse.

The phone in the kitchen rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Bolting to her feet, she whipped around and stared at the telephone, trying to decide whether or not to answer.

It continued to ring.

Sucking in her breath, she crossed over and lifted the receiver from its cradle. "Hello?" she said tentatively.

"Lindsey?" It was Nicholas's voice, and it was taut with strain. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Her voice sounded shaky, high and thin to her own ears. At the same time, she wondered how Nicholas knew she was in trouble. Had he found out about the accident already? "What have you heard?"

"Heard? Nothing. It just took you forever to answer the phone. I know you're not asleep; I saw you go inside a few minutes ago. And I know what kind of shape you were in this afternoon. Now you sound worse. What's going on?"

She blinked to clear her head. "What do you mean you saw me go inside a few minutes ago?"

A brief pause. "I'm parked down the street. I was waiting for you to get back. I need to talk to you. But I know I promised not to show up on the doorstep. So I waited to be invited in." Another pause. "Am I invited in?"

Lindsey felt tears of relief burn behind her eyes. "Yes. Please. Come in."

There was another hesitation, then a click and a hum as the connection was broken. By the time she replaced the receiver and started for the front hall, she heard Nicholas's BMW roar up the driveway. She unbolted the door and yanked it open.

Nicholas was striding up the walk. His gaze swept her as he mounted the steps, stepped inside the house.

"You're white as a ghost," he announced tersely. "You're also covered with plaster. And you've been crying. Sweetheart, what is it?"

Maybe it was the endearment. Maybe it was her frazzled state of mind. Either way, she didn't think. She simply went to him, seeking some measure of comfort. "I was at the manor. The scaffolding collapsed. It missed me by inches."