Read You Don't Want To Know Online
Authors: Lisa Jackson
You Don't Want To Know (14 page)
He considered, then nodded. “All right . . . Ava.” Again his gaze found hers, and what she saw in their depths was as frightening as it was arousing. She suspected that Austin Dern, when he set his mind to a task, didn't give up until it was accomplished. Her throat tightened, and she nearly stumbled on the step as she tried to back up.
She hurried up the rest of the stairs and quickly walked into her room. Closing the door behind her, she felt flushed, almost jittery, and attributed it to a lack of food. It couldn't be her reaction to the man. No way. She was not that kind of woman.
Oh, yeah, and just what kind of woman are you these days? Do you even know?
Ignoring her rapidly escalating pulse and the questions that seemed to plague her, she dug in the closet for her computer and notes and flopped onto the bed. She hit the START button on her laptop, and as the machine booted up, she wound her hair away from her face and snapped it into a haphazard ponytail.
Before she could even get into her program, there was a soft knock on the door, and without waiting for her to answer, the door cracked open and a hand slipped through. Clamped tightly in the female fingers was a sweating can of Diet Coke.
Ava almost laughed.
The arm lengthened and Khloe poked her head around the edge of the door. “I found one hidden in the back of the fridge. I think Mom was saving it for herself.” She slipped into the room and leaned against the panels of the door. “Shhh . . . don't tell anyone. Mom gets pretty tweaked if she can't get her caffeine fix.” She walked across the room and handed Ava the soda.
“Thanks.” Ava popped the top, hearing the click and distinct hiss of a can being opened.
Khloe hesitated by the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to tell you that I know things are weird around here. Sometimes I think we should all just get the hell off this island, but, well . . . that's kind of impossible and I know things are going to get better.”
“You mean,
I'm
going to get better.”
I'm
going to get better.”
“All of us,” Khloe said. She let out a sigh and looked out the window. A sadness seemed to overtake her. “Well, I've gotta run. Simon'll be home soon.” She glanced at her watch and said, “Oh, God, he might be home already. Wish me luck.”
“You got it.”
Khloe was half out the door when she added, “And the Coke, that's our little secret, right?”
“Right.”
Our little secret,
Ava thought as she took the first swallow from her can.
Ava thought as she took the first swallow from her can.
“Watch out!” Khloe cried as she was pulling the door shut, but not before Ava heard the high-pitched hum of Jewel-Anne's wheelchair. “What're you doing here?”
Eavesdropping again, that's what.
So much for secrets.
They were impossible to keep with her cousin in the house.
Ava was about to climb off the bed and give Jewel-Anne a piece of her mind when her phone vibrated. After digging it out of the pocket of her jeans, she saw Wyatt's face and number on the tiny screen.
“Hey,” she answered, settling back against her pillows.
“Hey back at you.” The anger she'd heard in his voice earlier had dissipated. “I'm sorry for the fight.”
“We're married. It happens,” she said, though of course it was happening more often than not lately.
“I just wanted you to know that the house date has to be postponed. Meetings ran late and I've got a drink with a client, so I won't be home until late.”
She'd pretty much figured the house date was off anyway. “Which client?” she asked lightly, keeping the suspicion from her tone.
“Orson Donnelly. Donnelly Software?”
Ava was familiar with the name. The guy had made a fortune in the ever-expanding software industry, developing programs primarily for start-up businesses. But lately, Donnelly and his son had parted ways and the son thought he was entitled to his share of the business or something.
“Yeah, I've got to talk him off the ledge, so I don't know how long it will take. Don't wait up.”
“Okay.”
“And, Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He hung up before she could respond, and she was left with the phone in her hand, not even able to say to the empty room, “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 14
“I
swear I had a Diet Coke in here,” Virginia muttered to herself, her shoulders deep into the refrigerator. No one else was in the kitchen, at least not that Ava could see.
swear I had a Diet Coke in here,” Virginia muttered to herself, her shoulders deep into the refrigerator. No one else was in the kitchen, at least not that Ava could see.
Hearing footsteps, Virginia straightened and slammed the door shut. “Guess I'll just have to restock.”
The dinner dishes were still piled in the sink, the dishwasher half emptied, the smell of clams, garlic, and tomato sauce heavy in the air. Three filled plates were covered with Saran Wrap, and two plastic containers were packed with the extra red clam sauce, the leftovers from a meal that Ava had devoured. For the first time in days, she'd had an appetite, and the warm bread, Caesar salad, and spicy pasta had been delicious. Enough so that she'd managed to get through dinner without getting furious with Jewel-Anne or perturbed with Demetria. She hadn't even bristled at Ian's remarks about her being “lucky” enough to own so much of the island even though he'd sold his share to her long ago. His resentment was usually masked, but once in a while he couldn't help reminding her that she'd “played her cards right.” He'd always made his statements as if they were a joke and he was just teasing her, but she knew beneath his smile was the grim belief that somehow she'd taken advantage of him and the rest of the family by buying them out.
Tonight she'd ignored him.
“Are these for Khloe and Simon?” she asked, indicating the covered plates.
“Mmm. And the new man . . . Dern.” Virginia was walking into the pantry where she scrounged around the shelves and returned carrying three cans of soda. “I thought he might appreciate it.” She opened the refrigerator door again and slipped the Diet Coke onto the shelves. “Bachelors, you know.” As the door shut, she gave Ava a knowing stare. “Never cook for themselves.”
“Let me run it down to him,” Ava offered, and when Virginia seemed about to object, she added, “Payback. He found my cell phone earlier and returned it to me.”
Virginia shrugged. “One less trip for me.”
After sliding into a jacket, Ava grabbed the plate and headed for Dern's apartment. It had been her plan all along, to find some excuse to talk to the man again, find out a little more about him. As she walked swiftly along the path to his quarters, she tried to convince herself that she needed more information on the man because he was her employee, someone who had shown up rather abruptly, and she just had the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. It wasn't because he was attractive, for God's sake, and even if he was, she was a married woman . . . maybe not happily married, maybe even a hair's breadth from separating and even divorcing her husband, but married just the same.
The fog was hanging low tonight, the security lamps shrouded in a fine mist, and the sound of the sea was a muted rush in her ears. Closer to the stable, the smell of horses filtered through the briny smell of the salt water from the bay and she noted the patches of light from the window of Dern's quarters.
Her boots rang up the old steps, and she heard Rover give a sharp bark as she climbed the stairs to his apartment. Before she was on the landing, the door opened and Dern, backlit by an interior lamp, filled the doorway.
Upon seeing Ava, Rover went nuts, barking and spinning in circles behind Dern's jean-clad legs.
“Built-in security system,” she said, hitching her chin toward the excited shepherd as she handed the new man the plate. “This is from Virginia. She has this thing about making way more food than anyone could ever eat.”
“Really?”
“Consider it a perk of being hired at Neptune's Gate. Trust me, Virginia won't let anyone starve while they're here.”
Rover was whining and sitting on the floor, his nose in the air, his tail sweeping the old oak planks.
“Looks like someone misses you,” Dern said, stepping out of the doorway and allowing Rover to shoot past to whine pathetically as Ava leaned down to pet him.
“Yeah, well, he's a traitor.” Smiling, she ruffled the dog behind his ears. “Any port in a storm.” She glanced up. “He was a stray who landed here, and Ned took him in, so he kind of comes with the apartment. Virginia puts food out for him on the back porch of the main house, and there's even a dog door cut into the panels of a door off the back porch. I bought a bed and tucked it near the back stairs, but he prefers it here or in the stable or even outside. Isn't that right, boy?” she said to the dog, and his tail thumped faster against the decking. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“He seems to like you.”
She laughed. “He even trusts me. Now, that's unique on this island.”
Dern raised a dark eyebrow.
“I know, I'm suffering from some kind of persecution complex or something.” She straightened and Rover slipped down the stairs, past her to the outdoors.
“Persecution complex?”
“Or something,” she reminded. “The diagnosis changes weekly. But you probably know that.” She watched the dog sniff around the closest fence post, then relieve himself against it. “I'm sure Wyatt told you all about me when you were hired.”
“He only said you'd had a hard time with the loss of your son. Come on in. I need to set this down.” He carried the plate inside, and Ava followed him into the apartment as Rover squeezed inside again by her legs. She hadn't been over the threshold of these living quarters over the stable in a long while, but little had changed since the last time she'd visited. The same pictures hung on the walls, the rag rug was just as she remembered, and the furniture, worn the last time she'd seen it, was a little more tired than it had been. There were a few things belonging to Dern in the unit, but nothing that suggested he intended to stay for a long while.
“Is there anything more you need here?” she asked, but he shook his head and held up the plate.
“This'll do.”
“Well, let me know if you find you need something.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“Good. I'd better get back. The spaghetti probably needs to be heated up in the microwave as it is.” Leaning down, she gave the dog one last pet. “Oh, and by the way, âRover' was Ned's idea. He showed up without tags and no one in Monroe claimed him, so Ned dubbed him Rover.” She straightened. “You know Ned, right? Isn't that what Wyatt said?”
“Never met the guy. I worked for a guy who knows your husband. Donnelly found out his son, Rand, wasn't cut out to run a ranch, so he sold it out from under him. Left me out of work. Donnelly hooked me up with Wyatt.” One side of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. “It's really no big mystery. Ask your husband.” Before she could respond, he added, “Let me guess. You already have.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “As I said, contrary to what you seem to believe, I wasn't hired to keep an eye on you.”
She nodded but hesitated at the door. “So why is it I have a feeling we've met before?”
“I must just have one of those faces.”
“No. That's not it.”
He raised a shoulder. “Well, I can't explain it, because I'm sure if we'd met before, I would remember you. You're not the kind of woman I'd be likely to forget.”
She felt a little tingle zing through her bloodstream, then told herself she was treading in dangerous waters. “I'd better go. Let you get to your meal. Bye, Rover,” and then she was out the door. Not that he tried to stop her.
She wondered if he was watching her, peering through a slit in the curtains or the blinds, then shook off the idea. It was dark, even with the few security lights shining, so if he was watching, he'd only note that she was making a beeline for the back of the house.
As soon as she was out of the pool of eerie light cast by the lamp nearest the house, she turned and walked through the garden, to the memory stone that Wyatt had placed for Noah a year after his disappearance.
“Get rid of it,” Ava had insisted at the time. “It's like a gravestone and he's not dead.”
“It's just a memory plaque. When he returns, we'll make note of the date or remove it altogether.”
She'd been furious at the time, but once the smooth stone, etched with Noah's name was placed in the garden, near a climbing rosebush that wound upon a trellis, she'd found surprising comfort in running her finger over her son's name or just kneeling near the rock and remembering holding him, feeling his warm arms around her neck, hearing his high-pitched laugh. God, she missed him . . .
She passed by the stone tonight, slowing and reaching down to touch the tiny memorial. “I will find you,” she promised. “Wherever you are, honey, Mommy will find you.” Her throat tightened, but she didn't break down, wouldn't let herself.
Straightening, she walked through the back door to the old staircase that wound its way from the basement, up three flights, and past the attic to the widow's walk at the top of the house. The stairs had originally been built for the staff, but there was no hard-and-fast rule. Still, most of the time everyone who lived or worked at Neptune's Gate used the elevator or main staircase, and as she creaked open the door, she smelled the dusty, musty odor of disuse.
Her stomach clenched as she realized the last time she'd climbed down these stairs to the basement was the week of Noah's disappearance. She, along with dozens of others, including the police, had searched the house from top to bottom, and she'd clambered down the old staircase at least a dozen times, her hope dwindling with each search.
Now, heart beating with the memory, she slapped the light switch and headed down the heavy plank steps. At the bottom of the staircase, she found another light switch, hit it, and suddenly the labyrinth of unfinished rooms was partially illuminated by five or six bare, dusty bulbs, one of which flickered out while the rest gave off a dim, feeble light that washed over the junk that was stored down here: shelves of empty jars, broken picture frames, and old sports equipment, even a slot machine that no longer worked.
Aside from Jacob's bachelor apartment with its own exterior access and a wine cellar that Wyatt had insisted be built five years ago, the area was unfinished and had been so for nearly a century. She passed the glass door to her husband's wine room with its perfect blend of temperature and humidity, and out of a sense of due diligence, she tried the mysterious key in the door, which was just plain silly. The room was new, its lock shiny and large. The key she'd found was old and the wrong shape. Of course it didn't work, but as she tried to force the key into the lock, she looked through the glass door and noticed the labels on a few bottles before giving up.
She turned her attention to the main area of the cellar, a space that had been dug out and created with the rest of Neptune's Gate.
The ceiling was low, and several times she was hit in the face by cobwebs that clung to her hair, leaving a sticky residue that couldn't be brushed off. “Yuck,” she muttered, wiping her hands quickly over her face.
As she passed through aisles of clutter, she saw her grandmother's sewing machine draped with its cover next to a pile of out-of-date textbooks from half a century earlier. Her uncle's bow and arrows were hanging near a pair of hip waders and crab pots complete with floats. Nearby, next to the NordicTrack, she nearly tripped on a set of dumbbells and weights.
She'd always hated it down here.
If the dampness and the smell of mold wasn't enough, the knowledge that this space was shared by mice, rats, wasps, and God only knew what else was unnerving.
But she felt compelled to check it out.
Her heart clenched when she spied a plastic tub of baby clothes, marked and labeled with Noah's name. Next to the container were a few of his toys. She spied a fire truck with a broken wheel and a set of blocks, still in their box. Fondly, she touched the hemp-like mane of a rocking horse he'd never really used.
Her knees nearly gave way as she pried off the plastic lid and almost reverently dug through the sleepers, layette blankets, and jackets, clothes she'd boxed up before he'd turned two. She'd stored them on the shelf of the closet of one of the guest rooms, but obviously someone had taken it upon themselves to bring them down here. Her throat was thick as she fingered a tiny little pajama set made to look like a tuxedo, and she had to blink away tears when she remembered propping him under the Christmas tree that first year and taking twenty or thirty pictures with the new camera they'd bought just for the occasion. She opened one of the plastic bags and smelled the scent of the special baby soap she'd used to wash his clothes.
“I miss you,” she said, then, hearing footsteps overhead, refolded the tux, slipped it into its plastic sleeve, and returned it to the tub. Clearing her throat, she crammed the lid onto the plastic bin and returned it to its shelf.
She couldn't spend much more time down here or she'd be missed, and she didn't want to explain herself.
Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the key again and began searching for old lockboxes or desks or drawers, anything with a lock. It seemed a nearly impossible task, as a hundred years of broken, forgotten, or outgrown clutter surrounded her. Generation after generation of Churches had stored unused items between the old walls of the basement.
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