Yesterday's Roses (15 page)

As covertly as a child intent on catching Santa stuffing her stocking on Christmas Eve, she slipped through the door. Only a faint shaft of pale morning light spilled around the edges of the drapes, forcing her to blink several times to adjust her eyes to the semidarkness of the room.

After several moments her gaze found the bed, and she cautiously tiptoed toward her patient. As she came to a stop next to the bed, she narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to make out the woman's tiny form beneath the enormous mound of blankets.

Not a skein of hair nor an inch of frilly gown spilled from the warm-looking cocoon. But that didn't surprise Hallie, for the night had been cold and Serena so hated the damp chill of the San Francisco fog that it had become her habit to sleep tightly curled beneath her covers. Hallie paused to draw a deep breath. Then she carefully lifted the edge of the blankets.

The bed was empty.

“Serena?” Hallie whispered, ripping back the blankets to confirm her fears. The woman was truly gone.

She called Serena again, this time more insistently, as she went to check the necessary room.

No one was there.

Growing breathless with alarm, her heart drumming with hectic percussion, she tried the bedroom door.

It was still locked, just like it had been the night before. Her hand flew to her throat, searching for the narrow length of red ribbon that held the key to the lock; desperately hoping, but not really expecting to find it still in place.

It was gone.

Double damn! Serena had somehow managed to steal the key while her keeper slept and had escaped, slyly locking the door behind her. The jailer was now the prisoner.

With fear blossoming into a full-blown case of panic, Hallie hurled herself against the door in a frenzy, shouting for help. Over and over again she struck, flesh against wood, until the pain from the repeated impact began to fade into numbness. The din in the small room was deafening, and she prayed the noise would be loud enough to bring somebody with the liberating key.

Just when Hallie was sure she would collapse from exhaustion, she heard a rattling at the lock.

“Lawdy! Ain't neva heard such a ruckus in all my born days!” It was Mammy Celine braced in the hall, staring at Hallie with round shoe-button eyes.

Hallie grasped the woman's arm with urgency. “Celine! Have you seen Serena!”

“Ain't seen no one, 'cepts you.” She frowned fiercely as the meaning of Hallie's words sank in. “You be tellin' me Miz Parrish be lost?”

“Not lost. I'm sure she hasn't gone far.”

Celine nodded. “Miz Parrish niwer leaves the house 'fore she drunk her mornin' chocolate. I 'member when—”

But Hallie didn't stop to listen. She was already halfway down the hall, her bare feet flapping against the wooden floor as she ran toward the stairs.

“Celine!” she shouted over her shoulder. “You search the house. I'll look outside.” She didn't wait for a reply but ran through the maze of hallways, bounding down the back stairs and out the servants' door. She stopped just outside, panting. Clutching at the stitch in her side, she caught her breath in ragged heaves, remaining motionless until the burning in her lungs had subsided.

Still struggling for air, Hallie resumed her search. Calling Serena's name, she anxiously scanned the lawn. But her only reply was the whisper of the eucalyptus trees as they awakened to the caress of an early-morning breeze.

“Serena!” With a sickening rush of horror wrenching at her belly, an awful possibility entered Hallie's mind: what if Serena had somehow managed to escape the grounds and was now wandering the streets in her filmy nightclothes? Hallie shuddered convulsively. The consequences would be unthinkable.

“Serena!” she screamed, skirting the wall-like hedges of the rose garden. In her haste, she slipped on the dewy grass and tumbled heavily to the ground. She quickly bounded to her feet, barely noticing the dampness soaking her robe or the grass stains marring her white gown. As she entered beneath the flowering arch of the garden, she stopped short, sobbing her relief.

“Oh, Jake!” she expelled, overjoyed to see the figure crouching in front of the same bower where she had sat with Davinia. Except for a slight tensing of his broad shoulders, he didn't move at the sound of her voice.

“Jake?” She paused for a moment, staring at the oddness of his rough apparel. His ragged trousers were tucked into tall, badly scuffed boots, and his ancient seaman's sweater looked as if it had seen one voyage too many.

“Jake?” she repeated, her brow furrowing with concern when he didn't look up or respond to her anxious query. Hallie moved closer until she stood a few feet behind him. It was then that she saw Serena's prone figure.

As a sharp cry issued from her lips, Jake's hands flinched away from where they had been resting at his wife's throat and dropped limply to his sides.

Hallie fell to her knees next to him, staring numbly at the figure sprawled in front of them. With her nightgown half torn from her body, Serena lay at an oddly twisted angle, her pallid limbs obscenely exposed. Like blood on ivory, a tattered scarlet glove covered her outstretched left hand, its faux diamond buttons sparkling with obscene gaiety in the early-morning sun.

The picture was made all the more macabre by the doll, whose face had been brutally shattered and whose body now lay in a grotesquely broken position that mimicked that of her owner.

With violently trembling hands, Hallie pushed aside the spun-silver cascade of hair that concealed Serena's face. She could only stare in horror at what had been hidden by the silken curtain. With a sob, she tore her gaze away. But even when she closed her eyes the tragic scene remained vivid, for in those few brief seconds, it had been indelibly etched in her mind.

Try as she might, Hallie couldn't escape the wide blue eyes as they stared sightlessly at the early-morning beauty of the roses; nor could she shut out the pearllike skin that had once inspired a hundred toasts across two continents but was now stained an angry, mottled purple; or the mouth that should have been laughing with joy but was drawn back as if in a silent plea, a stream of spittle trailing unchecked from one corner.

But what haunted Hallie most was the memory of Jake's hands flexed against his estranged wife's viciously bruised throat; for like a damning witness, those strong palms and fingers presented irrefutable proof of his guilt. And as tears slowly rained down her cheeks, she knew in her grief-stricken heart that she could no longer deny the truth.

She, Hallie Gardiner, loved Jake Parrish, and, God help them both, he had just murdered his wife.

Chapter 9

“You think I killed her, don't you?”

So absolutely emotionless were his words that Hallie abruptly ceased her examination of Serena's lifeless figure to gape at Jake in bewilderment.

Dear Lord! How could the man ask the question so calmly when he knew she'd seen him with his hands on his wife's throat?

Jake waited for her reply, returning her stare as impassively as if he had just inquired whether she took milk or sugar in her tea.

“What am I supposed to believe?” she finally asked, wanting to look away yet unwilling to abandon her search for a trace of humanity in his glacial features.

But his face remained unreadable, and his narrowed eyes betrayed nothing as he grated, “What, indeed? You come upon me kneeling in the garden with my hands on my wife's neck, and she happens to be dead. Strangled, to be exact. It doesn't take much imagination to know what's running through your head.” His mouth twisted coldly. “Or could it be that you're one of those rare creatures: a woman with an open mind?”

“I don't know what to think … or feel,” was Hallie's simple yet honest reply. Her head was prompting her to run for the police as fast as her feet could carry her, screaming
Murderer!
as she fled. But her heart beat with a hope for his innocence that was so strong it begged her to remain by his side and learn the truth.

And for the first time in her life, Hallie Gardiner's heart ruled her head.

“Jake?” She reached out to grasp his arm lightly. “Did you kill her?” She could feel his muscles tense beneath her hand, but she felt no fear at the evidence

of his superior strength. There was a heavy silence as his eyes bored into hers.

“No.”

And as Hallie penetrated the smoky depths of that stark gaze, all her doubts melted away. Without uttering a single word, he conveyed his feelings with an eloquence that moved her almost to tears. Mutely, he confessed his anguish for failing the woman he had once so desperately loved; tearlessly, he wept for the life he had wanted to share but couldn't; and tragically, he mourned the death of all his youthful dreams, now buried forever and marked only with single-word epitaphs: Love, Hope, and Promise.

Hallie drew in a sobbing breath and nodded.

“You believe me?” His tone was blandly curious, yet every line of his face seemed to beg her to trust in him.

“Yes,” she replied in a broken whisper.

Jake stared hypnotically into her golden eyes as he reached out and lightly stroked the delicate line of her collarbone. Grimly he probed those tawny depths, searching for a betraying shadow of fear that would give lie to her avowed faith in him. With slow deliberation, he traced the base of her throat, his strong hands growing gentle as they lingered over the area where her pulse throbbed with warm vitality.

And though his compelling gaze dared her to flinch from his touch, Hallie returned his stare calmly. In acknowledgment to his challenge, she arched her head back and presented him with the vulnerable length of her neck. He hesitated for a moment, and then one corner of his mouth curled up in a half-smile at her display of trust.

“Good,” he murmured, sliding his fingers up from her throat to push an errant curl off her cheek. “I'm glad you believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Jake seemed about to speak again, but then shook his head as if reconsidering his words, and released her with a sigh. Turning to his wife's prone figure, he gently arranged the remnant of her shredded garments over her naked limbs. He paused to run his fingers over the bare, bruised length of her arm, stopping to lift her fisted hand and study the torn, broken nails. Very carefully, he pried open the clenched fingers.

“What is it?” Hallie asked, staring at the object in Serena's hand. It was a slightly misshapen, dark brown object that looked for all the world like a rotten pea.

Jake lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Then he let out a snort of disgust. “Raw opium.” He examined the narcotic for a moment before handing it to Hallie.

She turned the tiny ball over in her palm curiously. In her practice Hallie had often dissolved fine brown opium granules in alcohol to formulate simple tinctures. She knew it to be useful in the treatment of myriad ailments, ranging from simple coughs to chronic diarrhea. But never had she seen it in its pure, crude form.

“Not much of a bargain when it costs you your life,” Jake murmured, taking the drug from Hallie's hand and jamming it deep into his pocket. Then he glanced back down at Serena's distorted face, this time forcing himself to really look at her.

He wanted to remember something wonderful; how she had once smiled up him, or the way she had sucked on her lower lip as she plotted her amorous assaults on his willing body. Anything to shut out the horror of what she had become, and the senseless brutality of her death.

But all the gentle memories eluded him, leaving only the bitter ones. One by one, those tormenting scenes burned into his brain, searing images that festered like the wounds of a dying man.

Then, somewhere at the edge of his mind, he heard the joyful music of Serena's laughter. The demons of the past shrieked their protests at the jubilant assault as they were forced to retreat and were, at last, banished back into the private hell of Jake's soul. But before he could fill his heart with the warmth of the laughter it, too, faded, leaving him wretchedly empty.

As Jake shook his head to clear his thoughts, his gaze was captured by the glint of the early-morning sun on Serena's hair. The sun-kissed mane pooled beneath her head to form a shining halo, the length of it floating across the grass like the streak from a fallen star.

His hands hovered over it for a moment and then, with a tortured groan, he buried his fingers in the tangled softness. Closing his eyes, he caressed a thick curl, painfully trying to memorize the smooth texture.

It was the familiarity of that motion which served to spring the floodgate of his mind.

Out spilled a torrent of memories that forcefully recalled happier times—times when he had awakened in the darkness of the night to find himself caught in the gossamer web of that hair, times he had tucked Serena securely between his thighs to brush the moonlit tresses, smiling as she whispered her bright dreams for their future together.

As each picture flashed by, he bade it a sad farewell. What wrenched him most was the knowledge that he was saying his final good-bye to the love he had once thought to cherish forever yet had lost so long ago.

Hallie gently squeezed his shoulder, trying to tell him in her own mute way that she understood his inner conflict and the raw pain of his emotions. Not that he had in any way revealed his feelings.

He hadn't. His face remained stonily impassive.

Yet she recognized his rigid, almost cold expression, for it was the same one she had seen reflected in the mirror the day she had learned of her mother's death.

Her mother—poor, sweet, plain Georgianna; the only person in the world who had ever cared about Hallie. Together, she and Hallie had battled the loneliness forced upon them by the tyrannical Ambrose Gardiner and had withstood his cruelty only through the support of each other's love.

Hallie clenched her fists at the thought of her father. She hated the man, and though Marius DeYoung had preached a sermon just last Sunday on the sin of hate, Hallie thought that somehow God understood her feelings. Surely he knew how impossible it was for her to love the man who had robbed her of her home, her inheritance, and everything else that had been her life?

Her heart twisted with sympathy as she scrutinized Jake's beautifully hewn profile. Yes, she understood all too well what lay beneath that carefully composed facade.

Jake let the tendril of Serena's hair float to the ground, glancing up as he felt Hallie move near. With her face softened by compassion and her eyes warm with tenderness, she had been transformed into a being of unearthly splendor. She glowed with the rare kind of beauty that transcended the superficiality of flesh, one that came from a generosity of spirit and a goodness of heart, mirroring the true essence of the woman within.

For a long moment, they were held captive by the unspoken emotions reflected in each other's eyes. When she abruptly pulled him into her embrace, crooning to him as if he were a wounded child, he tensed slightly with surprise, and then surrendered against the warmth of her breast.

Gently she cradled him, laying her cheek against the sable softness of his hair. She rocked back and forth, lightly stroking his back, whispering words of comfort as much for her own sake as for his. When she ran out of words, she simply held him. And they seemed frozen in time as they silently shared their grief.

At last Jake eased himself out of Hallie's embrace and studied her tearstained face. Softly he grazed his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away the runnels of sorrow. When they were instantly replaced with fresh droplets, he smiled tenderly and folded her in his arms. Large, gasping sobs were torn from her chest as she clung to his broad shoulders, weeping into his time-softened sweater.

“Did you care for her so much, little Mission Lady?” he whispered, lightly kneading her heaving back.

Hallie nodded as she relaxed beneath his soothing ministrations; soon her violent sobs were reduced to sighing hiccups. “I often thought—
hiccup
—had I known Serena before—well, you know—before, that we might have—
hiccup—
been friends. Sometimes, during her lucid moments, we laughed together and discussed all those things women find so—
hiccup
—interesting. I've never had a close friend. It made me realize how wonderful it could be.”

Jake looked down at her with surprise. Hallie had always seemed like such a busy and contented little soul. Never in a million years would he have suspected her loneliness. Impulsively he gave her a quick hug. “Serena was very fond of you in her own way, and I suspect you two would have become as thick as thieves had circumstances been different. I know she would have been honored to be your friend. Anyone would.”

With a soft hiccup, Hallie shook her head. “I've never been very good at making friends.”

“Mission Lady, there's nothing I'd like more than to be counted as your friend.”

“Truly?” Hallie searched his face anxiously, half fearing that he was jesting, yet desperately wanting to believe his words.

Jake felt his heart skip a beat at the unguarded need in her expression. He smiled his tender reassurance. “Truly.”

Her answering smile was so eager, so filled with gratitude, that he couldn't stop himself from tightening his arms around her protectively. What kind of a life had this poor creature led, that it took so little to please her? Irrationally, he found himself growing angry at the world that had deprived her of such basic pleasures as friendship. Well, he would be her friend—the best of friends—and make damn sure she never forgot it.

“Jake?” Hallie rested her chin against his chest to peer into his face, her eyes troubled.

“Yes, friend?”

Her lips twitched at his teasing tone, but her expression remained serious as she asked, “Who do you think killed Serena?”

“I don't know. I've turned that question over and over again in my head.”

“I can't imagine who would want to kill a frail, confused woman like Serena. Or why, for that matter.”

Jake stared unseeing into the distance and then shrugged. “I'm sure that in the course of her addiction, she came in contact with any number of unsavory characters. I think it's safe to assume that whoever killed her had something to do with the opium. As for why?” He paused for a moment before answering her second question. “What could be more dangerous than being at the mercy of a madwoman? I imagine someone was afraid she would inadvertently reveal his identity. However, I—”

“Dear God! Serena!”

Hallie and Jake jerked apart at the sound of the soul-shattering wail to gape up at Cyrus King, who was standing just over their shoulders. So involved were they in their conversation that they hadn't noticed his approach.

“My baby. My sweet, darling baby.” Dropping to his knees, Cyrus pulled his daughter's li
feless body into his arms.

As he hugged Serena to his chest, her head lolled back at a peculiar angle and a trickle of dark liquid oozed from her mouth to stain her chin. As he rocked her, her head bobbed limply from side to side, looking grotesquely as if she were keeping time to the endless tempo of Death's lonely dirge. Futilely, Cyrus whispered against her hair, lightly patting her back, much like he had done when she was eight years old and had been ill with scarlet fever. As he crooned, his tears rained in a steady stream, the dampness falling in large droplets onto Serena's face and continuing its course down her cheeks, almost as if she wept with him. “My poor, poor baby. Serena.”

Hallie was overcome with a rush of pity. That a father could so love his daughter was an alien idea to her, and her tears were as much for what she had never known as for the tragedy unfolding before her. Sobbing, she moved forward, feeling compelled to offer her sympathy. But Jake gripped her shoulder to stop her, shaking his head in warning.

It was Jake who finally placed his hand on Cyrus's twitching shoulder. “King—”

“Damn you to hell, Parrish!” Cyrus jerked his head back to glare at his son-in-law. “Have you no decency at all, making love to your whore over the barely cold body of my daughter?” He swung his enraged gaze to Hallie. “How does it feel, knowing your lover is a murderer?” He smiled malevolently as she flinched from his words. “They hang murderers, you know. Ever see a man hung before?”

Hallie let out a strangled sob and refused to meet Cyrus's glittering, tear-reddened gaze. When she didn't answer, he made a sound under his breath that made her think of a snake moving through dry underbrush. Then he chuckled horribly.