Chapter Ten
Diana was surprised to find that she’d arrived at the café ahead of Mart. It was a constant in their relationship that he was waiting for her. That was a constant in most of her romantic relationships when she thought about it. Strangely, she didn’t mind that Mart wasn’t there already. Mart was this wonderful blend of her past and her present, and, she was starting to think, her future, too.
She knew some people found her involvement with the freckle-face, stocky guy with the sandy hair hard to understand. But they didn’t know Mart and they didn’t know her. He was smart and funny and caring. He was real and while he did shower her with compliments—words were his stock and trade after all— he expected something from her—something more than being stylish. She liked that.
It was strange how her life was playing out. A happy childhood in Sleepyside had led to a year or so of complete misery and confusion. She hadn’t known how to fit in with her existing friends and her first exposure to people in her “new world” had left her even more confused and unhappy. But Honey had changed that. She’d learned she had skills and abilities and used them to create a career she loved. And now, Mart had given her the chance to bring her past and present together.
She sipped the diet soda she’d ordered, her expression thoughtful. Honey’s revelation had thrown her. It was so unlike her friend—even before her marriage Honey had had steady, slowly developed relationships—or at least, she did not sleep with a guy within days of having met him. And Honey and Brian. That was interesting. Mart said his brother rarely had long relationships, preferring casual attachments, so perhaps the direction of her thoughts was way off base, but some part of her—the romantic idealist— maybe was beginning to consider the two couples double dating. Two best friends marrying two brothers. She gave her blue-black head a shake. What exactly was she basing this on? Some woman had turned up at Brian’s door, lending credence to the notion that his attitude towards relationships was still very much on the casual side.
Looking up, she saw Mart heading towards her. A smile lighting that freckled face, that to her was so handsome.
“Sorry, my light-filled, luminous, lavender lady,” he said as he dropped into the seat opposite. “I was arguing with my editor in chief.”
Diana started to smile—Mart usually won arguments—he knew more words than most people. But even as that smile formed, a thought—a very unpleasant thought— struck her.
“Arguing about what?” she demanded.
Mart lifted one of sandy brows.
“And…” she prompted, knowing exactly what that meant.
“And? I told him I wasn’t using my connection to do a hatchet job on the Wheelers because it was a crappy thing to do, and there’s no evidence to suggest they’re guilty of anything.”
Diana’s smile fulfilled its promise. “That told him.”
“Kind of,” Mart admitted. “He fired me.”
It took a moment for Diana to react. “He what?”
Mart nodded. “You’d better get me a burger—double cheese—and fries. An unemployed man needs sustenance.”
“Mart, no. He didn’t.” Diana held her hand out and Mart took it. “Just like that.”
“Well, he gave me several opportunities to change my mind and made a number of what he felt to be reasonable ideas for stories that didn’t completely stick it to Honey and her family. Told me how other writers would jump at the chance. When I refused to listen to that, that’s when he fired me.”
“But…” Diana didn’t know what to say to this. “He will get someone else to write it, won’t he?”
Mart nodded. “Sorry, my sweet, but that I could not do anything about.”
“Mart, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Why? You were right, Diana, my dearest. The stuff he was talking about—sly, snide, innuendo—it’s not the kind of journalism I want to practice.”
“You did it for me,” she said simply.
“Yes, I did.”
“Excuse me,” Diana called to a passing staff member with a bright smile. “Can I get a chicken salad, a double cheeseburger, with pickles on the side, an extra large order of fries and a chocolate shake, please.”
Mart beamed. “Ambrosia.”
“I love you,” Di whispered.
Mart felt his heart swell and knew he’d done the exact right thing.
Trixie watched Dan drive off and then crossed the street to the bar Jim had pointed out. Spying Jim sitting at a booth in the corner of the bar, she headed straight for him.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he returned. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”
Trixie glanced at her watch. It was after six and being hungry was perfectly reasonable. “Sure, that would be nice. A beer and a burger?”
Jim nodded and waved at a waiter who came straight away. Trixie wondered if it was a trick of some sort. Staff at these sorts of places often seemed to ignore the customers—at least that was her experience.
“Two burgers, two beers and an order of onion rings, thanks.”
The waiter nodded and scurried off.
“So you really have been investigating people who aren’t Honey all along?” Jim asked without preamble.
Trixie considered entering the verbal sparring game that had characterised their interactions so far, but seeing the look in his green eyes decided against it. Dan was right, if she was in trouble, Brian and Mart and Bobby—Dan himself—would move hell and high water to help. Jim Frayne knew Honey a whole lot better than any of them and if what she’d dug up on him so far—research purely designed to further their case—he was honest and decent. He’d initiated a program that placed orphaned or disadvantaged kids in camps and schools around the country where they could grow and learn and have a better chance at a decent life. She liked the sound of that.
"Of course. You know, statistically, the spouse is a good bet, but my gut says it isn't her, and now, with a bit more information to hand, it doesn't seem likely." She wasn't about to share details, no matter how much she was starting to trust the man who sat opposite. But they'd found no weapon, the only blood on the woman's clothing was around its hemline and Honey had handed over her computer, which she said she'd been using on the night in question, without a murmur.
"Good," Jim said. "Because I know she didn't do it."
"That's not actually evidence, you know," Trixie observed. "She's your friend and you care about her."
"Yes, I do," Jim admitted. "But sometimes people think badly of someone like Honey, because they assume because of her background that she was spoiled, over privileged and always got her own way, and that might make her wayward, unstable even."
"Not me. I would never do that!" Trixie declared, knowing her cheeks were flushed.
“And Honey works hard,” Jim added. “She could get away with being a figurehead and just sit on boards or oversee projects, but she’s always liked getting involved, and she’s turned the philanthropic arm of Wheeler International. into a real force for change.”
“I had heard they did a lot of charity stuff,” Trixie said, glad they were moving away from the actual case.
“More than that. Have you seen the campaign Don’t Look Away?”
“Sure, the one about homelessness,” Trixie said, nodding her head in way that made her curls bounce, momentarily distracting her companion.
Jim realised she was regarding him expectantly. “Exactly!” he confirmed hastily. “That whole thing, the idea, the name and pulling it all together, was all Honey.”
“Really?”
“Yep. She’d tell you it was a team effort and that lots of people helped, and I guess that’s true. But she was behind it. She lobbied senators and the governor for welfare reform and then got businesses on board for a work program for the homeless and medical assistance for those without insurance. It’s been successful and is now in place in a couple of other cities.”
Trixie smiled at him. “You really are proud of her, aren’t you?”
“With good reason,” Jim said. “I know how I sound, but people love to throw the word nepotism around and where Honey’s concerned they are way off base. I know that none of this proves she didn’t kill Craig, but trust me, that’s not who she is.”
“She doesn’t strike me as the murdering type,” Trixie admitted. “Of course, there isn’t exactly a type, but after a while you get a feel and while there are people who play innocent and nice or even seem like that, there’s usually something—” She broke off, catching the amusement in his freckled face.
Jim grinned at her and shook his redhead. “You know you sounded just like her, then. Honey, I mean. Sometimes she wraps herself up in words and gets so tangled…”
Trixie couldn’t help it, she grinned back. “Me too. I can be articulate, but when my brain gets ahead of my mouth, which my brother Mart would tell you is pretty much all the time, I tend to verbally trip myself up.”
“Is that the same brother who’d eat me for breakfast? I gather he’s not the one who’s keen on Honey, as I know that Di is dating someone called Mart, though I haven’t met him. Di likes to take her time before bringing someone into the fold, so to speak. She’s mentioned him, more to Honey than me, and we were meant to get together for dinner a couple of weeks ago, but something came up.” Jim stopped talking and laughed again. “I catch that rambling thing from Honey, too.”
“Maybe there’s an antidote around somewhere,” Trixie smirked. “And you’re right, it’s Brian who seems to have a bit of thing for your friend. He’s the oldest and the county M.E. And trust me, that’s weird in itself, not the M.E part, the being this interested in someone he’s just met part. He’s the logical sensible member of the Belden clan. And while he has plenty of women in his life—” She caught the tightening of Jim’s jaw and hurried on. “This is different, he’s being kind of goofy and sentimental, and he is not usually like that.”
“Good to know. You can rest easy knowing that you’ll have an older brother who stays in one piece—for now.”
“But he’d better not hurt her, huh?” Trixie said, recalling Dan’s comment about being overprotective. Or maybe being Dan, he had just said protective.
“Not if he likes the finer things in life, like walking around,” Jim said, but his green eyes twinkled just a little now.
“I’ll pass on the message,” Trixie said, looking up as their food was deposited on the table. She reached for her burger and eyed Jim carefully. “Of course if your almost sister turns out to be a killer, and messes with my big brother, you’d better hope those long legs of hers can move fast.” She said it without thinking and, when he didn’t respond, wondered if she’d just blown her chance at getting information.
To her surprise, Jim burst out laughing, transforming his face. “Fair enough,” he said. “I guess we understand one another.”
“You’d be surprised how rare that can be.” Trixie bit into an onion ring. “Now, why were you at Richter’s, and what did you talk about?”
Neil Richter was used to wearing a mask. Businesses like his required it. If he’d let people see what he was thinking, what he was feeling, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as successful as he was. He got up from his desk, crossed to the buffet on the other side of the room and poured himself some bourbon.
Jim Frayne’s visit had thrown him, though he had little doubt that the big redhead was just trying to get information. He’d done his homework when he started dealing with Craig Houghton, and Frayne was cleaner than squeaky clean—there was no way he’d get involved in nightclubs that catered to…a certain lifestyle.
Houghton’s death had brought him attention. Attention he did not need. Still, he didn’t feel a lot like crying. He checked his cell again—still no reply. Damn it. He couldn’t plan his next move until he knew exactly what had happened. The problem with hiring amateurs is that they were unreliable. Couldn’t always follow orders.
The phone on his desk buzzed and he punched the button.
“Your wife’s on line one, Mr. Richter,” his secretary said.
Interesting, Neil thought. He’d have liked to have obtained the latest report before talking to her, but he wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to check out how she’d reacted to the news.
“Thanks, Jenny.” He took another sip of bourbon and hit the button a second time. “Kayla, my dear, you’re back. How was your trip?”
Brian slipped his cell back into his pocket. It was obvious that Honey wasn’t going to take his call or respond to his text and he supposed he couldn’t blame her. What a mess. He’d completely forgotten about his date with Karen. He still couldn’t quite work out which woman had been most surprised by the other’s presence.
He did know which one mattered most to him. The look in Honey’s eyes as she’d swept from his apartment—guarded, hurt, betrayed and worse still—resigned. She expected people to treat her badly, and he hated that he’d managed to meet that expectation. It had seemed that she was a long way from the shy, uncertain girl he’d met on Sleepyside common. Everything he’d read and his own conversations with her suggested she had made something of herself. Set aside her insecurities. But how quickly one returned to old hurts. It was if the past could never truly be put away.
The sudden ringing of his phone broke his reverie and he grabbed it eagerly. “Honey, please listen…Dan, what? No, I’ll explain later. What did you want?” He stopped moving as his friend’s words flew through the air and into his brain. “Sure. I can do that, but I don’t think…I mean that wouldn’t be very smart.” He listened again and nodded his dark head. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Honey caught a cab home from Diana’s office. Her friend had offered to go with her, had offered to cancel her plans for the evening, but she’d insisted she needed to get home and wanted some time alone. The driver was wonderfully oblivious and Honey settled in the rear passenger seat, watching the world change from concrete and chaos to hills and trees and glimpses of the water. The light of the day was dying, but still caught at the edges of night. It was a beautiful time of day, she supposed, but always felt sad to her. As if something was being lost or surrendered.
There were still a couple of photographers at the gates, and they snapped voraciously as the cab went up the long drive to the house—in reality that’s what it was—her house, not her home. Only a few of the rooms were hers. Craig had chosen the house and her father had bought it for them.
Of course, Craig had convinced her father that this was her dream home, the one she loved but wouldn’t ask for. He’d known the truth though. It had taken her a long time to realise that. After their engagement she and Craig had started looking for a house, rather than an apartment. It was something she’d always wanted—a little house or cottage with a yard and a view that wasn’t from the thirtieth floor.
The exclusive neighbourhood in the hills made sense and they saw several properties. It had been the stone cottage with its frame sunroom that had tugged at Honey’s heartstrings. Situated half way up the winding road that led to Bluff House, it was more than large enough for an ordinary family and she’d loved it. Loved the wide wooden floors, the paned windows and French doors, and the view of the Hudson from the patio and upstairs master suite.
They’d seen Caer Cottage the same day they viewed Bluff House and, when Matthew and Madeleine Wheeler had proudly handed the keys to the latter—her wedding gift as they insisted—she’d been thrown, though she was fairly sure she’d masked her feelings—she’d had enough practice over the years. Afterwards, when she’d expressed her confusion to Craig, he’d been upset, claiming it was his fault. He’d been distracted by a new business deal he was brokering and had misunderstood her. Could she forgive him?
What could she say? The house was beautiful, her parents incredibly generous and her husband penitent. Only a selfish, petty woman would be resentful. It was over a year later before she realised how much Craig loved Bluff House. Loved its lofty position, its vast rooms, marble floors, pool—all of it. Well, not the third floor that she slowly transformed, but he was happy enough for her to do it, so even that didn’t make her see the truth at first.
Bluff House in all its glory loomed before her, and she watched the cab head back down the drive before approaching the wide steps that led to the front entrance. She’d sent a second text to her father, assuring him she was fine, insisting he take care of business, and they could talk later. But she had no illusions, she might get a little time to herself, but someone would be there—watching over her— for love or money. She could only hope they couldn’t see the truth written on her face—the grieving widow had spent the afternoon in bed with another man. Recalling the look on the redhead’s face as she’d swept past her, Honey realised that was the least of her problems.
As she opened the double doors of the front entrance, she listened for sounds of life. Of course in a place the size of Bluff House it wasn’t hard to disappear. At the sound of footsteps on the sweeping staircase, she looked up.
“There you are. Thank goodness.” Cilla ran down to meet her and enfolded Honey in an embrace. “I was so worried about you.”
Just the kind of scene she’d been hoping to avoid. Honey pulled away gently. “I’m sorry, Cill, really. But I did text daddy. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not just your physical safety I’m concerned about. You’re under a lot of pressure at the moment, and let’s face it, you haven’t been that well lately. I hope you've been taking it easy of an evening, like you promised.”
“I'm not overdoing it. if that's what you mean. Actually, I feel a lot better than I did,” Honey said because it was true.
“Why don’t we go into the living room, and I’ll make us some tea or maybe you’d like a drink, to relax you.”
The idea of more tea did not appeal to Honey, as fond as she was of the beverage.
“Maybe a glass of wine would be nice,” she admitted. “But let’s use the conservatory or go up to my rooms. I don’t feel like the living room.”
Cilla shook her head and gave Honey’s slender shoulders a squeeze. “You are funny sometimes. It’s a beautiful room—exquisite.”
“Maybe that’s why I don’t like it,” Honey returned with uncharacteristic waspishness.
“Whatever you say,” Cilla said, humouring her friend.
“I’m going to change. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Cilla stopped and studied Honey for a moment. “What happened?” she demanded, seeing the tear in Honey’s jeans.
“Nothing. Nothing to worry about anyway. Please, Cilla. Go and open some wine, and I’ll be there shortly.”
She turned to go up the stairs, but stopped when there was knock on the door. It had to be someone with the gate access code and she watched as Cilla strode ahead of her and wrenched the door open.
“Jim!” Honey cried and ran to him.
“Hey there, little sister of the soul,” he said, holding her close. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“I’ve been AWOL,” she admitted, using the old military term the two had used as teenagers whenever they were not where they were supposed to be.
“I heard you checked in so it doesn’t count,” Jim corrected with the slightest of grins.
“I was just about to open some wine in the conservatory,” Cilla put in. “Honey was on her way upstairs to change. She’s had some sort of accident.”
Jim frowned at this. “Are you okay?”
“I fell over. A scrape, that’s all.”
“Does it need taking care of?”
“No a doctor cleaned it up,” Honey replied without thinking.
“You went to a doctor?” Cilla asked
“One was passing,” Honey was surprised to hear how casual she sounded. “And like I said, it was nothing.”
“Fine,” Jim said. “So go change already. I’m ordering Chinese to go with the wine, and no arguments.”
“No point in arguing with you,” Honey headed for the stairs. “You’re way too stubbornly pigheaded for that.”
“Spoiled brat,” Jim said, green eyes dancing.
“Disaffected bad-tempered teen,” Honey threw over her shoulder.
Jim turned his gaze from the woman hurrying up the stairs to the one who stood a few feet away watching.
“She’s not coping,” Cill said bluntly.
“I’d say she’s doing fine, considering.”
“I’m not sure she even knows what happened to her today. She’s been losing time again.”
“I don’t believe it,” Jim said. “That was one or two incidents after she’d had the flu a while ago. Even the doctor said it was probably just residual fever or reaction to the medication.”
Cilla shook her head sadly. “I wish I thought that was true, but I’m scared, Jim.”
Jim didn’t ask her what of. He didn’t need to. She thought Honey might have killed Craig. But that couldn’t be true, could it?
BH:MAIN NEXT
Author's notes: My thanks go, as always, to Dana for her awesome editing. All errors are mine. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
She knew some people found her involvement with the freckle-face, stocky guy with the sandy hair hard to understand. But they didn’t know Mart and they didn’t know her. He was smart and funny and caring. He was real and while he did shower her with compliments—words were his stock and trade after all— he expected something from her—something more than being stylish. She liked that.
It was strange how her life was playing out. A happy childhood in Sleepyside had led to a year or so of complete misery and confusion. She hadn’t known how to fit in with her existing friends and her first exposure to people in her “new world” had left her even more confused and unhappy. But Honey had changed that. She’d learned she had skills and abilities and used them to create a career she loved. And now, Mart had given her the chance to bring her past and present together.
She sipped the diet soda she’d ordered, her expression thoughtful. Honey’s revelation had thrown her. It was so unlike her friend—even before her marriage Honey had had steady, slowly developed relationships—or at least, she did not sleep with a guy within days of having met him. And Honey and Brian. That was interesting. Mart said his brother rarely had long relationships, preferring casual attachments, so perhaps the direction of her thoughts was way off base, but some part of her—the romantic idealist— maybe was beginning to consider the two couples double dating. Two best friends marrying two brothers. She gave her blue-black head a shake. What exactly was she basing this on? Some woman had turned up at Brian’s door, lending credence to the notion that his attitude towards relationships was still very much on the casual side.
Looking up, she saw Mart heading towards her. A smile lighting that freckled face, that to her was so handsome.
“Sorry, my light-filled, luminous, lavender lady,” he said as he dropped into the seat opposite. “I was arguing with my editor in chief.”
Diana started to smile—Mart usually won arguments—he knew more words than most people. But even as that smile formed, a thought—a very unpleasant thought— struck her.
“Arguing about what?” she demanded.
Mart lifted one of sandy brows.
“And…” she prompted, knowing exactly what that meant.
“And? I told him I wasn’t using my connection to do a hatchet job on the Wheelers because it was a crappy thing to do, and there’s no evidence to suggest they’re guilty of anything.”
Diana’s smile fulfilled its promise. “That told him.”
“Kind of,” Mart admitted. “He fired me.”
It took a moment for Diana to react. “He what?”
Mart nodded. “You’d better get me a burger—double cheese—and fries. An unemployed man needs sustenance.”
“Mart, no. He didn’t.” Diana held her hand out and Mart took it. “Just like that.”
“Well, he gave me several opportunities to change my mind and made a number of what he felt to be reasonable ideas for stories that didn’t completely stick it to Honey and her family. Told me how other writers would jump at the chance. When I refused to listen to that, that’s when he fired me.”
“But…” Diana didn’t know what to say to this. “He will get someone else to write it, won’t he?”
Mart nodded. “Sorry, my sweet, but that I could not do anything about.”
“Mart, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Why? You were right, Diana, my dearest. The stuff he was talking about—sly, snide, innuendo—it’s not the kind of journalism I want to practice.”
“You did it for me,” she said simply.
“Yes, I did.”
“Excuse me,” Diana called to a passing staff member with a bright smile. “Can I get a chicken salad, a double cheeseburger, with pickles on the side, an extra large order of fries and a chocolate shake, please.”
Mart beamed. “Ambrosia.”
“I love you,” Di whispered.
Mart felt his heart swell and knew he’d done the exact right thing.
Trixie watched Dan drive off and then crossed the street to the bar Jim had pointed out. Spying Jim sitting at a booth in the corner of the bar, she headed straight for him.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he returned. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”
Trixie glanced at her watch. It was after six and being hungry was perfectly reasonable. “Sure, that would be nice. A beer and a burger?”
Jim nodded and waved at a waiter who came straight away. Trixie wondered if it was a trick of some sort. Staff at these sorts of places often seemed to ignore the customers—at least that was her experience.
“Two burgers, two beers and an order of onion rings, thanks.”
The waiter nodded and scurried off.
“So you really have been investigating people who aren’t Honey all along?” Jim asked without preamble.
Trixie considered entering the verbal sparring game that had characterised their interactions so far, but seeing the look in his green eyes decided against it. Dan was right, if she was in trouble, Brian and Mart and Bobby—Dan himself—would move hell and high water to help. Jim Frayne knew Honey a whole lot better than any of them and if what she’d dug up on him so far—research purely designed to further their case—he was honest and decent. He’d initiated a program that placed orphaned or disadvantaged kids in camps and schools around the country where they could grow and learn and have a better chance at a decent life. She liked the sound of that.
"Of course. You know, statistically, the spouse is a good bet, but my gut says it isn't her, and now, with a bit more information to hand, it doesn't seem likely." She wasn't about to share details, no matter how much she was starting to trust the man who sat opposite. But they'd found no weapon, the only blood on the woman's clothing was around its hemline and Honey had handed over her computer, which she said she'd been using on the night in question, without a murmur.
"Good," Jim said. "Because I know she didn't do it."
"That's not actually evidence, you know," Trixie observed. "She's your friend and you care about her."
"Yes, I do," Jim admitted. "But sometimes people think badly of someone like Honey, because they assume because of her background that she was spoiled, over privileged and always got her own way, and that might make her wayward, unstable even."
"Not me. I would never do that!" Trixie declared, knowing her cheeks were flushed.
“And Honey works hard,” Jim added. “She could get away with being a figurehead and just sit on boards or oversee projects, but she’s always liked getting involved, and she’s turned the philanthropic arm of Wheeler International. into a real force for change.”
“I had heard they did a lot of charity stuff,” Trixie said, glad they were moving away from the actual case.
“More than that. Have you seen the campaign Don’t Look Away?”
“Sure, the one about homelessness,” Trixie said, nodding her head in way that made her curls bounce, momentarily distracting her companion.
Jim realised she was regarding him expectantly. “Exactly!” he confirmed hastily. “That whole thing, the idea, the name and pulling it all together, was all Honey.”
“Really?”
“Yep. She’d tell you it was a team effort and that lots of people helped, and I guess that’s true. But she was behind it. She lobbied senators and the governor for welfare reform and then got businesses on board for a work program for the homeless and medical assistance for those without insurance. It’s been successful and is now in place in a couple of other cities.”
Trixie smiled at him. “You really are proud of her, aren’t you?”
“With good reason,” Jim said. “I know how I sound, but people love to throw the word nepotism around and where Honey’s concerned they are way off base. I know that none of this proves she didn’t kill Craig, but trust me, that’s not who she is.”
“She doesn’t strike me as the murdering type,” Trixie admitted. “Of course, there isn’t exactly a type, but after a while you get a feel and while there are people who play innocent and nice or even seem like that, there’s usually something—” She broke off, catching the amusement in his freckled face.
Jim grinned at her and shook his redhead. “You know you sounded just like her, then. Honey, I mean. Sometimes she wraps herself up in words and gets so tangled…”
Trixie couldn’t help it, she grinned back. “Me too. I can be articulate, but when my brain gets ahead of my mouth, which my brother Mart would tell you is pretty much all the time, I tend to verbally trip myself up.”
“Is that the same brother who’d eat me for breakfast? I gather he’s not the one who’s keen on Honey, as I know that Di is dating someone called Mart, though I haven’t met him. Di likes to take her time before bringing someone into the fold, so to speak. She’s mentioned him, more to Honey than me, and we were meant to get together for dinner a couple of weeks ago, but something came up.” Jim stopped talking and laughed again. “I catch that rambling thing from Honey, too.”
“Maybe there’s an antidote around somewhere,” Trixie smirked. “And you’re right, it’s Brian who seems to have a bit of thing for your friend. He’s the oldest and the county M.E. And trust me, that’s weird in itself, not the M.E part, the being this interested in someone he’s just met part. He’s the logical sensible member of the Belden clan. And while he has plenty of women in his life—” She caught the tightening of Jim’s jaw and hurried on. “This is different, he’s being kind of goofy and sentimental, and he is not usually like that.”
“Good to know. You can rest easy knowing that you’ll have an older brother who stays in one piece—for now.”
“But he’d better not hurt her, huh?” Trixie said, recalling Dan’s comment about being overprotective. Or maybe being Dan, he had just said protective.
“Not if he likes the finer things in life, like walking around,” Jim said, but his green eyes twinkled just a little now.
“I’ll pass on the message,” Trixie said, looking up as their food was deposited on the table. She reached for her burger and eyed Jim carefully. “Of course if your almost sister turns out to be a killer, and messes with my big brother, you’d better hope those long legs of hers can move fast.” She said it without thinking and, when he didn’t respond, wondered if she’d just blown her chance at getting information.
To her surprise, Jim burst out laughing, transforming his face. “Fair enough,” he said. “I guess we understand one another.”
“You’d be surprised how rare that can be.” Trixie bit into an onion ring. “Now, why were you at Richter’s, and what did you talk about?”
Neil Richter was used to wearing a mask. Businesses like his required it. If he’d let people see what he was thinking, what he was feeling, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as successful as he was. He got up from his desk, crossed to the buffet on the other side of the room and poured himself some bourbon.
Jim Frayne’s visit had thrown him, though he had little doubt that the big redhead was just trying to get information. He’d done his homework when he started dealing with Craig Houghton, and Frayne was cleaner than squeaky clean—there was no way he’d get involved in nightclubs that catered to…a certain lifestyle.
Houghton’s death had brought him attention. Attention he did not need. Still, he didn’t feel a lot like crying. He checked his cell again—still no reply. Damn it. He couldn’t plan his next move until he knew exactly what had happened. The problem with hiring amateurs is that they were unreliable. Couldn’t always follow orders.
The phone on his desk buzzed and he punched the button.
“Your wife’s on line one, Mr. Richter,” his secretary said.
Interesting, Neil thought. He’d have liked to have obtained the latest report before talking to her, but he wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to check out how she’d reacted to the news.
“Thanks, Jenny.” He took another sip of bourbon and hit the button a second time. “Kayla, my dear, you’re back. How was your trip?”
Brian slipped his cell back into his pocket. It was obvious that Honey wasn’t going to take his call or respond to his text and he supposed he couldn’t blame her. What a mess. He’d completely forgotten about his date with Karen. He still couldn’t quite work out which woman had been most surprised by the other’s presence.
He did know which one mattered most to him. The look in Honey’s eyes as she’d swept from his apartment—guarded, hurt, betrayed and worse still—resigned. She expected people to treat her badly, and he hated that he’d managed to meet that expectation. It had seemed that she was a long way from the shy, uncertain girl he’d met on Sleepyside common. Everything he’d read and his own conversations with her suggested she had made something of herself. Set aside her insecurities. But how quickly one returned to old hurts. It was if the past could never truly be put away.
The sudden ringing of his phone broke his reverie and he grabbed it eagerly. “Honey, please listen…Dan, what? No, I’ll explain later. What did you want?” He stopped moving as his friend’s words flew through the air and into his brain. “Sure. I can do that, but I don’t think…I mean that wouldn’t be very smart.” He listened again and nodded his dark head. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Honey caught a cab home from Diana’s office. Her friend had offered to go with her, had offered to cancel her plans for the evening, but she’d insisted she needed to get home and wanted some time alone. The driver was wonderfully oblivious and Honey settled in the rear passenger seat, watching the world change from concrete and chaos to hills and trees and glimpses of the water. The light of the day was dying, but still caught at the edges of night. It was a beautiful time of day, she supposed, but always felt sad to her. As if something was being lost or surrendered.
There were still a couple of photographers at the gates, and they snapped voraciously as the cab went up the long drive to the house—in reality that’s what it was—her house, not her home. Only a few of the rooms were hers. Craig had chosen the house and her father had bought it for them.
Of course, Craig had convinced her father that this was her dream home, the one she loved but wouldn’t ask for. He’d known the truth though. It had taken her a long time to realise that. After their engagement she and Craig had started looking for a house, rather than an apartment. It was something she’d always wanted—a little house or cottage with a yard and a view that wasn’t from the thirtieth floor.
The exclusive neighbourhood in the hills made sense and they saw several properties. It had been the stone cottage with its frame sunroom that had tugged at Honey’s heartstrings. Situated half way up the winding road that led to Bluff House, it was more than large enough for an ordinary family and she’d loved it. Loved the wide wooden floors, the paned windows and French doors, and the view of the Hudson from the patio and upstairs master suite.
They’d seen Caer Cottage the same day they viewed Bluff House and, when Matthew and Madeleine Wheeler had proudly handed the keys to the latter—her wedding gift as they insisted—she’d been thrown, though she was fairly sure she’d masked her feelings—she’d had enough practice over the years. Afterwards, when she’d expressed her confusion to Craig, he’d been upset, claiming it was his fault. He’d been distracted by a new business deal he was brokering and had misunderstood her. Could she forgive him?
What could she say? The house was beautiful, her parents incredibly generous and her husband penitent. Only a selfish, petty woman would be resentful. It was over a year later before she realised how much Craig loved Bluff House. Loved its lofty position, its vast rooms, marble floors, pool—all of it. Well, not the third floor that she slowly transformed, but he was happy enough for her to do it, so even that didn’t make her see the truth at first.
Bluff House in all its glory loomed before her, and she watched the cab head back down the drive before approaching the wide steps that led to the front entrance. She’d sent a second text to her father, assuring him she was fine, insisting he take care of business, and they could talk later. But she had no illusions, she might get a little time to herself, but someone would be there—watching over her— for love or money. She could only hope they couldn’t see the truth written on her face—the grieving widow had spent the afternoon in bed with another man. Recalling the look on the redhead’s face as she’d swept past her, Honey realised that was the least of her problems.
As she opened the double doors of the front entrance, she listened for sounds of life. Of course in a place the size of Bluff House it wasn’t hard to disappear. At the sound of footsteps on the sweeping staircase, she looked up.
“There you are. Thank goodness.” Cilla ran down to meet her and enfolded Honey in an embrace. “I was so worried about you.”
Just the kind of scene she’d been hoping to avoid. Honey pulled away gently. “I’m sorry, Cill, really. But I did text daddy. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not just your physical safety I’m concerned about. You’re under a lot of pressure at the moment, and let’s face it, you haven’t been that well lately. I hope you've been taking it easy of an evening, like you promised.”
“I'm not overdoing it. if that's what you mean. Actually, I feel a lot better than I did,” Honey said because it was true.
“Why don’t we go into the living room, and I’ll make us some tea or maybe you’d like a drink, to relax you.”
The idea of more tea did not appeal to Honey, as fond as she was of the beverage.
“Maybe a glass of wine would be nice,” she admitted. “But let’s use the conservatory or go up to my rooms. I don’t feel like the living room.”
Cilla shook her head and gave Honey’s slender shoulders a squeeze. “You are funny sometimes. It’s a beautiful room—exquisite.”
“Maybe that’s why I don’t like it,” Honey returned with uncharacteristic waspishness.
“Whatever you say,” Cilla said, humouring her friend.
“I’m going to change. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Cilla stopped and studied Honey for a moment. “What happened?” she demanded, seeing the tear in Honey’s jeans.
“Nothing. Nothing to worry about anyway. Please, Cilla. Go and open some wine, and I’ll be there shortly.”
She turned to go up the stairs, but stopped when there was knock on the door. It had to be someone with the gate access code and she watched as Cilla strode ahead of her and wrenched the door open.
“Jim!” Honey cried and ran to him.
“Hey there, little sister of the soul,” he said, holding her close. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“I’ve been AWOL,” she admitted, using the old military term the two had used as teenagers whenever they were not where they were supposed to be.
“I heard you checked in so it doesn’t count,” Jim corrected with the slightest of grins.
“I was just about to open some wine in the conservatory,” Cilla put in. “Honey was on her way upstairs to change. She’s had some sort of accident.”
Jim frowned at this. “Are you okay?”
“I fell over. A scrape, that’s all.”
“Does it need taking care of?”
“No a doctor cleaned it up,” Honey replied without thinking.
“You went to a doctor?” Cilla asked
“One was passing,” Honey was surprised to hear how casual she sounded. “And like I said, it was nothing.”
“Fine,” Jim said. “So go change already. I’m ordering Chinese to go with the wine, and no arguments.”
“No point in arguing with you,” Honey headed for the stairs. “You’re way too stubbornly pigheaded for that.”
“Spoiled brat,” Jim said, green eyes dancing.
“Disaffected bad-tempered teen,” Honey threw over her shoulder.
Jim turned his gaze from the woman hurrying up the stairs to the one who stood a few feet away watching.
“She’s not coping,” Cill said bluntly.
“I’d say she’s doing fine, considering.”
“I’m not sure she even knows what happened to her today. She’s been losing time again.”
“I don’t believe it,” Jim said. “That was one or two incidents after she’d had the flu a while ago. Even the doctor said it was probably just residual fever or reaction to the medication.”
Cilla shook her head sadly. “I wish I thought that was true, but I’m scared, Jim.”
Jim didn’t ask her what of. He didn’t need to. She thought Honey might have killed Craig. But that couldn’t be true, could it?
BH:MAIN NEXT
Author's notes: My thanks go, as always, to Dana for her awesome editing. All errors are mine. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
