Tangled Vines (43 page)

“If you will excuse me,” Katherine murmured as she reached for her cane. “I am very tired. I think I will lie down for a while.”

Sam was there, drawing her chair back and tucking a hand under her arm, assisting Katherine to her feet. A gesture of solicitous concern; Kelly hadn't seen it from him before. “Will you be all right?” he asked quietly.

Her white head came up, a ghost of its former confident tilt. “Of course.”

All this, Kelly thought, and she had gained nothing that would prove her father's guilt or innocence. “Katherine.” She waited until the woman turned. “I never asked you – the night of the party, did you see anyone else at the winery?”

“Anyone else?” Pain flickered in her eyes. Or was it alarm? “You did, didn't you?”

Dullness clouded her eyes. “When I checked to see if Emile was still alive, I looked up and saw only a ghost. A little boy with cold accusing eyes. He vanished even as I looked at him.”

Kelly felt Sam's hard stare as Katherine moved slowly to the terrace doors. “Did you have to ask?” He came back to the table.

The vague lift of her shoulders was a non-answer. “Do you think she saw Gil that night?”

“I think she saw exactly what she said she saw. A ghost.”

He sounded very certain. The trouble was that Kelly didn't believe in ghosts, unless they were living ones.

The library's paneled walls gleamed in the morning sunlight that flooded through the windows. Kelly prowled the room, trailing a finger over a collection of leather-bound classics and touching a brass magnifying glass on the desk. The soft burr of the telephone intruded on the silence. She ignored it; Mrs. Vargas or Katherine would answer it. Restless and hating this feeling of being at loose ends, she wandered over to a window.

A dispirited sigh slipped from her. Yesterday had accomplished nothing. With a rueful pull of her mouth, Kelly recognized that wasn't quite true. She had gained possession of family secrets and she didn't like the burden of them.

“You have a telephone call, Miss Douglas.” The soft-footed housekeeper stood in the doorway.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vargas.” Kelly crossed to the desk and picked up the extension. “Kelly Douglas speaking.”

“Kelly. This is Hugh.”

“Hugh.” A thousand things Kelly hadn't let herself think about rushed through her mind. “How's everything going? What about DeeDee's interview with John Travis? How did it go?”

“It went fine. The reason I called....”

“Yes?”

“You need to contact your agent, Kelly. There are discussions that have to take place now, and I understand he feels reluctant to talk until he has spoken with you.”

“What kind of discussions?” Unconsciously Kelly tilted her chin a little higher, certain she already knew the answer.

“Kelly.” Hugh sighed her name in a voice thick with reproval, and regret. “Surely you don't need me to spell this out for you.”

“But I do.”

A long pause was followed by another heavy sigh. “Dear God. ‘Quickly, bring me a beaker of wine, so that I may wet my mind and say something clever.”' Hugh muttered the quote.

“Forget clever, Hugh, and try the truth.”

“I thought it would be obvious to you, Kelly.”

“It is. As they say back in Iowa, it's as obvious as a brass tack in a hog's ear,” Kelly replied curtly. “They want to replace me on the show, isn't that right?” She didn't wait for Hugh to confirm it. “You can tell them for me that I will fight them, loud and strong, every inch of the way. My father has caused me enough grief in my life. I am not going to let him cost me my job – or my career.”

“Kelly, this isn't personal.”

“You are wrong, Hugh. This is very personal.”

“Try to understand. Your image, your credibility, has been badly damaged by all this.”

“I am well aware of that. I am also aware that it can be repaired.”

“How?” Skepticism riddled his voice.

She didn't have a pat answer for that. “Maybe if less time was spent trying to figure out who to get to replace me, and more on trying to correct the problem, a way would be found. I am far from the only person who has endured the physical and emotional abuse of an alcoholic parent. Maybe I could interview some well-known personality with a similar background who has succeeded in living down the notoriety of a parent. That way the public perception of me may be influenced by the story of that individual. There has to be something that can be done, Hugh.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his tone less skeptical and more thoughtful.

“In any case, Hugh, I will call my agent – to hire a PR firm to start doing some damage control and repair. If the powers that be want to discuss that with me, I will. But nothing else.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so, Hugh. I hope so.” She hung up, and felt an instant, urgent need for fresh air.

In the entry hall, Kelly flung the terrace doors wide and walked out. Seeking the warmth of the sunlight, she moved out of the building's shade. The screaming wail of a siren pierced the morning quiet. Kelly refused to think it had anything to do with her father.

She left the hard fieldstones of the terrace and walked onto the lawn, the thick grass cushioning each step she took. Halfway to the concrete balustrade that guarded the land's steep slope, Kelly heard voices coming from the rose garden. She pulled up when she saw Natalie Fougere in the arms of Clay Rutledge.

Abruptly the baroness broke off the kiss and pushed at him, arching against the band of his circling arms. Clay said something and Natalie shook her head and pulled free to walk quickly toward the terrace, head down, totally unaware of Kelly. Clay spun angrily away and stalked off, cutting through the garden to circle around to the front of the house.

Only feet separated them before Natalie saw her. She gave Kelly a startled look, threw a glance at the rose garden, then swung back, pale and apprehensive.

“You saw,” Natalie murmured.

“I saw you and Clay together. I wasn't surprised. I suspected all along the two of you were having an affair.” Kelly watched the discomfort and guilt grow in the woman's expression as Natalie avoided her eyes.

“Please, it is not what you think. It is over. I cannot bear to have him touch me anymore.” Her small shudder of revulsion seemed genuine. “I have told him this, but he refuses to listen.”

“You weren't in the rose garden when your husband was killed, were you?” Kelly guessed. “You slipped off to meet Clay.”

“We were together, yes.” She rubbed a hand over her forearm in an agitated motion.

“And Emile followed you, didn't he?”

Natalie looked at her with brown, haunted eyes, not answering. Not needing to answer. “I should never have met him. It was a mistake.”

“What happened? Did your husband catch the two of you together?” Kelly kept the questions coming soft and fast. “Was there an argument? A struggle? Did Clay hit him?”

“No. No!”

“She was frightened, Sam.” Kelly sat on the wide, molded rail of the concrete balustrade that overlooked the valley floor.

The setting sun rode the rim of the western mountains, throwing an amber tint over the land. The view of vineyards, scattered valley oaks, and buildings had the look of a yellowing tintype in the light. Sam stood next to Kelly, one foot on the grass and the other propped on the railing, his arms folded across his raised knee.

“Frightened of what?” he asked because it was what she wanted.

“I don't know.” She picked at the pieces of crumbling concrete along the lip of the railing. “Maybe she's afraid of Clay because he killed the baron. Maybe she's afraid because she did. Or maybe she's just afraid people will find out she was unfaithful to her husband. Maybe it's something she honestly regrets.” Kelly lifted her head, narrowing her eyes to look at the scarlet-turning sun. “Who knows what her reason is? But somebody's lying, Sam. She claims she was with Clay, and Gil said the same. What if Clay wasn't with either one of them when Baron Fougere was killed? But how do you prove that?”

“You don't.” Sam angled his head at her. “You tell the police what you've learned and let them check it out. That's their job.”

“Right, add the spice of sex and infidelity to a story that's already sensational enough,” Kelly countered. “And what do I tell the police? That Natalie Fougere admitted to me she had been having an affair with Clay Rutledge, that she had slipped off to meet him, and Emile followed her. All she has to do is deny it and Clay already has an alibi. It's my word against theirs. I have no proof of any of this.”

Sam let that pass. “The police think they've found where your father's been camping out, in a ravine over by the old Bale mill. One of the rangers discovered the campsite after a tourist reported seeing some smoke.”

“Where did you learn that? I didn't hear anything about it on the news.”

“I talked to one of the park rangers this afternoon. He told me. That's some rough and wild terrain over there. They're trying to seal it off now and box him in. In the meantime, they've taken the dogs there to see if they can pick up his trail from the campsite.”

“Are they sure it's him?”

“They found a plastic garbage bag with some canned goods in it, and a shirt like the one you described. They think he left in a hurry, maybe when he heard the ranger coming. With luck, they'll have him back in custody by tomorrow.”

Which was a polite way of saying “back in jail.” On murder charges. Kelly looked to the north where the cone-shaped peak of Mount St. Helena crowned the skyline.

“You should be glad.” Sam kept his voice very cool, very even.

“I am.” Wasn't she?

“You don't sound it.”

“I'll do my celebrating when they actually catch him. Until then” – Kelly brushed the fragments of cement from her fingers – “there's still the question of his guilt. And who's lying and why? I've got to think of some way to shake the truth out.”

“Leave it alone, Kelly.”

“And do nothing? Sam, he may be innocent.”

“And he may not.” He dragged his foot off the railing, straightening. “That isn't for you to find out.”

“But no one else is trying. They've already decided he's guilty.”

“That is no reason for you to get involved in this. It has nothing to do with you, and I don't want to see you get dragged into the middle of it.”

“Why?” Kelly was on her feet, his words turning her cold. “Because he's a drunk and a troublemaker?”

“You said it. I didn't. What if he does go to prison for something he didn't do, Kelly?” Sam challenged. “After the hell he's put you through, he deserves whatever he gets. You're out of it. Stay out of it.”

“I can't. He's my father,” she shot back.

He gave her a long, grim took. “That's the first time you've ever called him that.”

“What does it matter? It doesn't change anything.”

“It should. Kelly, you, of all people, know he's not worth the trouble. Leave it alone.”

“I can't. And I won't.” She started to walk past him, but he stepped into her path.

“Why?” Sam challenged. “Do you think if you prove he's innocent, he'll thank you? The minute he got out of jail, he'd go get drunk. Don't you know that? Or do you think if you do this, he'll finally love you?”

She shoved past him, tears springing to her eyes. All the way to the house, Kelly fought them, her lungs burning with each breath she took. Emotions crowded her, but anger was uppermost. Three steps into the entry hall, Kelly swung toward the library.

There, she went to the desk and searched through the drawers until she found the telephone directory. She flipped to the R's and ran her finger down the names, then stopped and picked up the phone. She punched the numbers in rapid succession and waited.

“I want to talk to Mr. Rutledge,” she told the voice on the other end of the line.

“Who's calling, please?”

“Miss Douglas.” She sat on the edge of the desk and waited again.

At last Gil Rutledge was on the line. “Yes, Miss Douglas. What can I do for you? But please make it brief. I'm entertaining guests this evening.”

“This will be very brief, Mr. Rutledge.” She kept her voice clipped and cool, betraying none of the anger that simmered below the surface. “First, let me make it clear that Katherine knows nothing of this. This is strictly between you and me.”

“What is?” He was abrupt.

“I know you weren't with your son when the baron was killed. If my father is going to take the fall for this, it's only right that he receive compensation.”

“What are you saying?”

“At the moment I'm not saying anything to anyone. That can change, of course.”

His voice dropped to a low, angry murmur. “This is blackmail.”

“A harsh word, Mr. Rutledge. I had a business arrangement in mind. Think about it. We'll talk again.” She hung up, then paused, a rawness sweeping aside the anger. Lightly Kelly ran her fingers over the phone. “I found one liar, Sam,” she whispered. “Next I'll find the truth, I have to.”

She had lived too long with lies. Lies that she had told about the bruises her father had inflicted on her, the arm he had broken. Most of all the endless lies her father had told her. She had to find out if he was lying to her again. She had to find out if he was guilty or innocent. It was the only way she could stop being a victim – the only way she could finally be free.

She was doing this for herself, not her father. But Kelly didn't know how to make Sam understand that. And it hurt that he didn't; it hurt much more than she cared to admit.

It was late when Sam climbed the stairs to go to bed that night. All evening he had expected Kelly to come to him, seeking to make peace. He had been certain that after she thought it over, she would recognize that he was only trying to keep her from getting hurt again by expecting too much from Dougherty, by wanting something the man couldn't give.

When he drew level with her door, Sam paused in the center of the hall. If they hadn't argued, he would be in there with her tonight. He still could be. All he had to do was walk over to that door.

No. He wasn't about to apologize for one damned thing he'd said. He was right. Dougherty had caused her nothing but pain. By now, she should have learned he hadn't changed. The man was a habitual liar and a drunk. It was time she woke up to that.

Sam pushed off in one long stride toward his own bedroom.