The Forever Stone (26 page)

Exactly what Brenn would have said. She took a drink of coffee, but it had turned bitter.

He leaned forward, putting his hand over hers. “I think a lot of you, Madeleine. I’m sure you don’t mean to be a busybody. Stay out of this.”

She pulled her hand away. “But it’s wrong! Paula would die if she knew how you’re using her grandfather’s name. You’ve made a little money on the deal. Why not stop now before someone gets hurt?”

He chuckled. “You’re threatening me?”

“I’m just asking you, for her sake. Her decoys are good enough that you could sell them for a hundred dollars and still make a profit.”

“Peanuts,” he said. “Not worth driving around to all those little stores. And I don’t know what made you decide to figure all this out, but you’re too pretty to get involved with complicated business matters.” He gave her a look. “Don’t rock the boat, my silly little elf. I want you to forget all about it.”

He pushed his chair back and glanced again at the blonde. “Finished with your coffee?”

“Not quite.” She lifted her cup, pretending to savor the last few drops. She didn’t want to put it down. Didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go out into the dark with him.

His smile, the look in his eyes. She knew that look.

This wasn’t turning out the way she had hoped. The way she had prayed.

Slowly she lowered the cup to its saucer.
Lord, protect me.

Kent had taken his eyes off the blonde. He was watching her, and she couldn’t summon up the bold, confident manner that she needed.

He stepped to her side of the table and bent low, murmuring in her ear, “C’mon, princess. Have you ever been up to Apple Pie Hill? You should see it by moonlight, with snow on the pines.”

He put a hand under her elbow and levered her to her feet.

She moved away from his touch, energized by fear. “I don’t want to see Apple Pie Hill right now. I want you to take me home. Or would you rather I made a scene and insisted on calling a taxi?”

He produced a grin. “Hey, relax. I’ll take you home if that’s what you want. Apple Pie Hill can wait.” 

He drove back the way they’d come and was as pleasant as ever, telling her about the redwoods he’d seen in the Marin Headlands near San Francisco, but tension spiraled through his voice.

She made herself small and kept still, looking out the window.

Somber woods slid past, and the cold expanse seemed to shrink the space inside the car. What was she doing here, enclosed with this man?

He began to drive more quickly. She knew what was building up inside him and tried to distract his attention. She told him about their research on Jersey glass and asked his advice; she told him about the pieces of Manor glass that might be antiques and asked whether he thought it was likely. Beneath her chatter, she prayed little wordless pleas for help.

He answered briefly, whipping around the turns, and she slid from side to side, straining against the seat belt.

Breathe, she told herself. Think.

At last he turned into the driveway and careened up it. She inched her hand toward the seat clasp, released it as he began to slow. He braked, unsnapped his seat belt, and reached for her.

But she was out of the car, stumbling across the snow, grabbing for her key. As usual, Mac waited on the railing.   

She slipped.

He was beside her in an instant. “You want to go inside, sweetheart?” His voice thickened. “Sure thing. We’ll go inside.”

She elbowed him, broke away from his grasp.

Up the steps, to the door, no time for a key.

But—Mac?

She snatched up the cat, turned to face him, and the cat growled a deadly threat.

Kent swore under his breath. “Shoot that beast! It’s a menace.”

“Look who’s talking!” she said. “You’d better leave. Right away.”

She took out her key.

“Hey, you’re so beautiful, I lost my head. I just wanted a little kiss. You can’t hold that against a guy.”

He stepped toward her while she was unlocking the door, and Mac growled again.

He paused.

She backed over the threshold, shut the door, and turned the deadbolt. She waited, leaning against it, until she heard him drive off.

Then she began to shake. She made herself breathe slowly, deeply. “Lord, my Rock, my Deliverer. Thank you for mercies.”

Madeleine took another deep breath and turned from the door. He was gone.

Now, she had to check on the girl. Mac pranced down the hall ahead of her, nudged the door of the Blue Room open with his nose, and jumped lightly onto the sofa.

“There you are.” The girl’s voice was raspy, and only the top of her head showed above the blanket. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Which of them was she was referring to? Not that it mattered.

The girl’s face appeared. She blinked, stretched, and sat up to put an arm around the cat. She looked more alert, and the flush was gone from her cheeks. 

“Hungry?” Madeleine asked.

“Yes, a little. Do you have any ham?”

“I think so. Would you like a sandwich?”

The girl yawned, stroking Mac’s neck. “Yeah. Maybe a couple. And some cocoa.” After a pause, she added, “Please?”

Madeleine smiled. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Her phone rang while she was in the kitchen. It was Aunt Lin, full of news about how well everything was coming together for once. “And how’s our restoration project doing?” she asked.

Madeleine told her about the idea of painting the dining room. “Wonderful,” her aunt said. “Let’s keep it simple. You can get more ivory paint from Timothy. And see what you think about a wallpaper border, up by the ceiling.” She yawned. “I hope you aren’t working too hard.”

“No, but I found out that Kent’s been cheating Paula by running his own little profit-making venture.”

Surely her aunt would be indignant.

“What does Kent have to say about it?”

“He thinks it is fine and claims that he’s entitled to his profit and at least she’s getting something.”

Aunt Lin yawned again. “These family feuds! I’d keep out of it—you’ll save yourself a lot of grief. Have to run. Hope to get home by the weekend. Bye!”

Madeleine hung up, frowning. How could her aunt be so unconcerned? Perhaps because she didn’t know the real Kent. Did anyone?

Her phone rang again. Nathan. She leaned back against the counter.

“Mollie! I couldn’t get away, and now it’s late, but I’ve been thinking about you. How’s the girl?”

Should she tell him about her dinner-date with Kent? Not over the phone.

“Mollie?”

“She seems better. She even asked me for a ham sandwich—I’m making it now. The cut isn’t nearly as swollen, and she’s taken a real liking to the cat. We haven’t done much talking, though.”

Why was she babbling like this?

“Good. Did you ever find out her name?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll check back. You sound tired—get some sleep if you can.”

Later, she would tell him. She put the sandwich and cocoa onto a tray, added cookies, and carried it down the hall with the cat twining around her ankles. 

The girl was still sitting in her cocoon of blankets, and Mac leaped up to join her.

“Thanks.” The girl reached for a sandwich and pulled out a strip of ham. She dangled it over Mac’s nose, and he snapped it up. “Thought you’d like that,” she said. “You’re the biggest hunk of fur I’ve ever seen. Want some more?”

She fed him most of the ham from her sandwich while she drank the cocoa. Then she leaned back against the sofa, her hair glinting on the blue velvet. “What kind of place is this anyway? Is it yours? How come this room is so full of stuff?”

Question after question rolled out of her pert little mouth, and Madeleine could tell that she had already explored the Manor. After a while she said, “I’ve been wondering about you too. What’s your name?”

The girl bristled. “You just want to know that so you can tell the cops.”

“I’m not going to do that, but I can’t keep calling you, ‘Girl.’ ”

A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Okay, my name is Tara.”

“A beautiful name,” Madeleine said. “Well, Tara, don’t you think your parents are worried about you?”

The young face turned to stone. “I have no parents.”

“But you have a cat, don’t you?”

Tara wrapped herself in the blankets and pulled Mac close. “No cat. Not anymore.” Her voice was dispassionate, almost cold. “He got . . . murdered.”

Her gaze fastened on the carpet. What was she remembering?

“Tara.” Madeleine lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tara?”

But the girl didn’t answer, so she took the dishes back to the kitchen. When she returned, Tara was under the blanket, and only the tip of Mac’s ear was visible.

“Good night, Tara.” Madeleine turned out the lamp and trudged toward her bedroom. She hadn’t been much help, had she?

Sometime in the night, a storm pulled her out of a dream about Kent, and she didn’t mind. Lightning and thunder were better than listening to him say, “What did you decide, Madeleine? Will I have to punish you?”

He’d spoken with Brenn’s voice.

Don’t think about that. Was it going to rain more heavily? Better get up and shut the window. Where was Mac? Probably with Tara, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

Mac had slipped out of the blankets to curl at the end of the sofa, and Tara seemed to be sleeping soundly. Good for them. If only she could roll back into bed and sleep like that.

Thunder exploded overhead as she returned to the hall. She’d go upstairs to the library and watch the storm and forget the dream.

She dropped onto the window seat. Trees rolled to the horizon like a dark sea, and zigzags of fire snaked downward, sizzled, and disappeared. She gazed at the flat expanse and found herself longing for mountains.

When she was a little girl, she’d told herself stories about the mountains around Roanoke. Those tree-covered humps belonged to invisible Rocklings, creatures who were both good and wise. They kept their pantries of food and drink inside the gumdrop-shaped hills. They built their castles in the taller mountains, great fortresses of rock where festivals took place.

But here she had no kindly Rocklings, no stores of delicacies, no castles. Only sand and trees and one dilemma after another.

She tucked her legs beneath her. Think it through. Kent’s decoy dealings were a scam, like the slippery shading of truth that Mother applied to her business ventures. Brenn had followed the same mindset, both in his practice and in his personal life.

Don’t rock the boat, Kent said.

Don’t you breathe a word, Brenn had said.

She had recognized the look on Kent’s face. Something more than lust. Something ruthless, fanatic.

If she did anything, Kent would know who had scuttled his glittering barge. And he would find her. Next time she wouldn’t have a cat for a shield.

Brenn had found her. She’d gone to visit Arlene overnight—that was the story. But in the middle of supper, he’d arrived. “Dr. Burke, how nice to see you,” Arlene’s elderly mother had said. “Madeleine, dear, your husband wants you to come home.”

She had paid for it that night, and she’d never left again. She had learned not to fight back, to take herself off to a safe distance and watch. That woman couldn’t be her. It had to be someone else.

Remembering made the horror creep beneath her ribs.

She shivered and crossed her arms around herself. If only Dad were here! But she knew what he’d say: “Look to your forever-God. He’s your High Tower.”

She pictured a tower rising above the trees, a fortress built of sturdy Virginia rock. Inside, she’d find all she needed: strength, wisdom, love. And He would keep her safe.

Why hadn’t He kept her safe from Brenn?

You have a plan for Mollie, in all of this.

Maybe she would never know the whole plan.

“Lord, I am afraid.” She squared her shoulders. “But I am going to sink that boat.”

Breathe deeply, as Nathan had taught her. Breathe again.

“Lord, I’m praying Dad’s prayer, right now. Never let me forget that You are the One who makes me strong.”

She got up from the window seat, stiff with cold, and found her way down the stairs to her room. In the bureau drawer, she felt for the sock with a bulge and drew out her paperweight. The pink flowers glistened inside, lovely as ever.