Chaste Kiss (9 page)

"Well, it's obviously not the mattress or the linens.” She sat up and began to run her fingers over the frame of the bed. “There doesn't seem to be anything moveable. Only the headboard and footboard seem to detach from the frame."

"'Twas a glad thought, Isabel, but one that does not appear to be true. I thank you for trying."

"I'm not licked yet. There has to be a way to give you your freedom. Or at least some of it, anyway.” She flopped back down on her back next to him and realized her ribs didn't hurt as much as when she tossed Susan out the door.

Happy with her recovery, her thoughts jumped back to their discussion. “I'll see what Uncle Jerome knows about the bed. After all, he had it moved here. He must know what comes apart and what doesn't. I wonder if he knows anything else about it.” She silently studied the canopy.

"You have that look in your eye that spelled trouble when you were a young miss. What mischief goes on in that head of yours?"

She set about chewing on her bottom lip, a habit that drove William to distraction. God, how he wanted to suckle the very spot her teeth now nibbled.

"I think I'm going to do some research on the bed,” she said. “See how far back I can trace it. Maybe I'll find some clues to the curse and a way to end it."

His sweet Isabel never failed to bring a smile to his face. She was the most vivacious, intriguing woman he had ever known. She brought great joy to his meager existence.

"What do you think?” She turned her head to the side and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with optimism.

William took a large gulp, willing his ghostly heart to calm itself. He should never have lain next to her. ‘Twas pure torture to the few senses he still possessed. “I think I should leave you to your rest.” He faded before her luscious lips became his undoing.

"But William—"

"Anon."

"Men,” she grumbled. “Dead or alive, I'll never figure them out."

He chuckled at her fit of temper as he left her room and made his way to the library. There he seriously pondered her words. Could she find a way to break the curse? He could help her trace the bed back to its beginnings. After all he had been there, but he feared ‘twould lead to false hopes. He was dead and naught could change that, yet perhaps they could find a way to make his existence less painful. To be free to roam where he wanted would be a wonderful thing indeed.

He came across Jerome stooped over a book as usual, and looked to see what the old scholar read.

Great Lovers in History
.

Interesting. And what has brought about such a change in his host's choice of study?

Constance came into the library with a rag in her hand and paused. She timidly glanced at Jerome before making her way to the bar. Did William detect a flicker of longing in her eyes?

As she went about cleaning the counter where William had caused the skinny witch to spill her drink, he observed Jerome from the corner of his eye. Isabel's uncle stealthily watched the silver haired wench go about her chore.

Why had he not seen it before? What Isabel said ‘twas true, there was no doubt. The two she called her family were in love with one another, or almost. How could he aid in bringing them together? ‘Twas something to ponder. A pastime to keep his mind occupied with something other than his sweet Isabel's cherry red lips and eyes of liquid jade.

Grumbling at the avenue of his thoughts, he turned back to studying the two living souls in the room. Perhaps he would lend Cupid a hand, if only to allow others to have the happiness that would always exist beyond his reach. As he so deserved. No one could e'er love a man with so many sins upon his soul.

Chapter Five

The late afternoon sun sent brilliant beams of light through Isabel's window when her uncle gently woke her from her nap. She'd fallen asleep shortly after William left and spent the few hours dreaming of him. It was damned annoying. She found him constantly in her thoughts and in her dreams. It was enough to drive a girl insane.

"I'm sorry I had to wake you, but there's a detective here to see you from the Brantley Police Department,” her uncle said.

"That's all right. I wasn't sleeping too soundly anyway. Does he have any news?"

"He didn't say. I think he wants to ask you some questions."

"All right. I'll be down in a minute."

She headed for the bathroom to splash water on her face. Maybe that would cool the heat still burning inside her from her dream. If she didn't get a hold on her attraction for William, she was going to go off the deep end. Or worse, make the mistake of touching him and send him into oblivion.

After quickly drying her face, applying a little light makeup, and brushing her hair, she headed downstairs to greet her visitor. She hoped her ghostly friend wouldn't decide to join them. Susan she could throw out and not give a wit what she thought, but not a detective. She needed him and the police to find the lunatic who wanted to kill her.

Isabel shuddered. She'd been so happy lately with her little family and William, she'd almost forgotten what had brought her to Derrington Manor in the first place. Even her talk with Susan hadn't drudged up the unpleasant memories of the stalker's notes and roses.

The detective's back was to her as she entered the library. He had broad shoulders and sandy brown hair in need of a comb. Turning around, he looked her over with cool gray eyes. His mouth pulled tight, exaggerating his thin lips beneath his Roman nose. Yet he had a rough masculine quality she found interesting.

His rumpled coat looked as though it needed a trip to the cleaners, and his tie was pulled crooked away from his neck. Other than guessing him to be in his early thirties, the bland expression on his face revealed very little about the man.

"I'm Isabel Derrington.” She crossed the room and extended her hand.

"Detective Wise."

They shook hands. His hold lasted longer than she would've liked, but after being leery of strangers for so many months she dismissed it.

"What can I do for you, detective?” She tried to maintain a light tone while easing the tension thickening in her body.

"I have a couple of questions, Miss Derrington. Questions I'm sure you've been asked a dozen times by now,” he said.

"That's all right. Ask away.” She sat down on the settee while gesturing for him to take a seat.

A scant moment later, William entered the room and sat next to her. She prayed he wouldn't make a nuisance of himself this time.

The detective pulled out a small pad and pen and perched on the edge of one of the wingback chairs next to the fireplace. The tips of his rumpled raincoat touched the floor by his feet. “Could you give me a detailed description of the vehicle that ran you off the road?"

"No. Not detailed, I'm afraid. Only that it was a truck. One of those big ones, not a little pick-up. It was a two-door, I think. There wasn't one of those cover things on the back, either, and it seemed old to me."

"Old?” His brows lifted with the question. The first real expression she'd seen on his face, yet barely noticeable.

"I mean it made a lot of noise when he sped up. You know a deep rumble kind of sound older trucks make that haven't been serviced in a long time."

His brows smoothed. “I see. Can you describe the driver?"

She closed her eyes, trying to envision the scene. “He wore a ball cap, and he sat tall in the seat."

"Miss Derrington, are you certain it was a man?"

Her eyes popped open at the question. It wasn't something she considered before. “I guess I can't really be sure."

"That's all right. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"I think the truck was blue, maybe black, but you probably already know that from where he hit my car."

"Yes, we have the color of the vehicle. It was dark blue. Now could you tell me about the notes you received?” He flipped to a new page in his notepad.

"Well...” She nervously wiped her palms against her jeans.

"All is well, sweeting. Go on,” William whispered.

She focused on the sound of his voice, drawing strength from it. “He sent me a note a week for about two months with a single red rose. They were little poems at first. Actually kind of nice."

"Were they handwritten or typed?” the detective asked.

"They were typed. It was computer type, not a typewriter. I don't have them with me. They're at the police station in High Point. Except for the last one. I guess that's still at my apartment."

He scribbled something on his little pad. “I understand that one was different."

"Yes, it was only one line and—” She took a deep breath. “It had a black rose with it."

William leaned closer to her. “You are doing well, love."

Her head snapped to stare at what to anyone else would be empty space. Did he mean to call her love or was it simply another quaint English endearment rolling off his tongue? Perhaps they should go back to poppet and little one. Calling her love made her heart feel like leaping from her chest.

"Are you all right, Miss Derrington?"

She quickly turned back to Detective Wise. “Sorry, I thought I heard my uncle."

"I realize this is uncomfortable, but I have to ask if you could you tell me what the last note said."

She rubbed her hands liberally against her thighs. “Yes,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “It said loveliness such as yours belongs in heaven with the angels."

"Holy Mother,” William rasped.

Detective Wise looked up from his notepad. “I'm sorry. I didn't catch that."

"Oh, uh, nothing. The sound carries funny in this house. It was probably the television in the room down the hall."

The detective nodded and went back to his scribbling.

William really needed to watch it, she thought, but easily forgave him. The creepy words written by the stalker had a tendency to suck the air from her lungs no matter how many times she heard them or thought of them.

"One last question,” the detective said. “Are you currently involved with anyone?"

She didn't quite know how to answer that. If he meant living, the answer was a definite no. If he meant dead, that was a different story entirely. A story that seemed to be changing with every passing minute.

"Um, no. Not at the moment.” She ignored the little twitch at the corner of her mouth, urging her to smile. Thinking about William instead of the stalker made a world of difference in her mood. Oh, how nice it would be if he could squeeze her hand to reassure her—and other things. She mentally groaned, frustrated with the direction of her thoughts.

"I apologize for having to intrude on your personal life, Miss Derrington, but according to previous depositions, you stated that you were involved with a man named Chad Martin. Am I to understand that relationship has been severed?"

"Yes. Completely severed."

"Have you and your boyfriend, I mean, ex-boyfriend been having problems?"

"No. We just decided that where his life was going and where I want mine to go are in two different directions. You see, I've decided to remain here in Brantley. I plan on opening an antique shop in town and live here with my uncle. Chad had other ideas."

"I see. And this happened recently?” he asked.

"Yes. He isn't the one, Detective."

He nodded and took a few more notes.

Isabel knew he didn't believe her about Chad, but it really didn't matter. Deep in her heart, she knew he wasn't the one. No matter how big a jerk he was.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer.” The detective rose to leave then paused. “Oh, just one more thing. Have you received any more notes or gifts since your arrival?"

"No, thank goodness.” She shivered and rubbed her arms vigorously. “I suspect he doesn't know about my uncle, or at least I hope he doesn't."

The detective smiled for the first time. He was much more handsome when he smiled, instead of the grim face he'd worn during their talk.

"I hope so too, Miss Derrington.” He started out the door, the tails of his coat swaying back and forth with his dauntless gait.

"I'll see you out.” She followed him, noticing William wasn't far behind.

Turning to face her at the front door, he offered his card. “I'll let you know if there are any developments. Here's my card if you should remember anything else."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to call you, Detective."

They shook hands, but he didn't release hers as she expected.

"Call me Mick.” His tone had softened a great deal.

She smiled at the warm look he gave her. Now, this was a surprise. What had changed in her that suddenly attracted the attention of two handsome men? Assuming, of course, she hadn't imagined seeing that spark of desire in William's eyes earlier.

Still, Mick was definitely interested. “Call me Isabel.” She slowly slipped her hand from his.

"Have a pleasant afternoon, Isabel.” He smiled broadly.

Oh, yes, he was definitely attractive when he smiled. Almost like a different person entirely. “Thank you. Goodbye, Mick."

Isabel watched until his car disappeared past the curve in the drive. She could get used to all this attention from good-looking men, she thought, then a shiver assaulted her. Another man, a faceless man was interested in her too, and he wanted her dead. Perhaps popularity wasn't what it was cracked up to be after all.

"The currish coxcomb!"

She jumped at William's sudden outburst. “Would you calm down?"

Grumbling, he followed her back into the library.

He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. “I did not like the way he looked upon you. ‘Twas unseemly."

She blinked several times at his deep scowl, his newly acquired endearment echoing in her ears. He couldn't possibly be jealous, could he?

No, he was just trying to protect her like a big brother or something. After that lovely scene with Chad, she could understand his need to play bodyguard. She kind of liked it, actually.

"You're overreacting, William, but thank you for your concern.” She spun around on her heels and headed for the door, her heart feeling lighter with every step. “Now, I've got a few things to take care of before dinner. I'll see you later.” She waved over her shoulder and strolled out of the room.