The Seventh Night (12 page)

“He killed
my
father.”

A sort of stunned silence settled over the room. I stared at Angelique in shocked disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“Just what I said.” Her eyes—so much like Reid’s—flashed with blue scorn. “Christopher wanted Mother and he didn’t let anything or
anyone
stand in his way. Not even Papa. So he killed him.”

“Angelique, that’s enough! You’re way out of line.” When she started to say more, Reid grabbed her arm. She jerked herself free, and with one last scorching glance in my direction, turned and stalked out of the room.

I turned on Reid. “What the hell is she talking about?” My language had slipped in my agitation, and Reid’s brow lifted ever so slightly in surprise.

“As you said, all that’s in the past and best left there.”

I shook my head. “You can’t drop a bomb like that, and leave it to explode later. I want to know exactly what Angelique meant.”

Reid sighed, running his fingers through his black hair. “Angelique has a big mouth,” he said darkly, moving across the room toward the terrace doors. He opened one, and a fragrant breeze blew through the room. “Let’s go outside.”

I followed him through the glass door onto the brick-paved terrace. It was a beautiful morning. Intermixed with the green haze of eucalyptus, banyan and pine trees, an occasional flamboyant flamed scarlet in the misty morning sunlight. Overhead, like a saffron arrow, a formation of tiny yellow birds zeroed in on the uppermost branches of the pines. Their high-pitched chirps filled the air with excited chatter.

“Well?” I said impatiently. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”

“Yes, I know,” Reid said dryly. He glanced at me, his blue eyes cool and beckoning. Yet, like still waters, I had a feeling dangerous currents lurked somewhere in those fathomless depths. “You know the story, I’m sure, of how Mother and Christopher met in Chicago and fell in love while they were both still married. They began an affair.” He looked at me, as if carefully gauging my reaction. “Christopher obtained his divorce first. From what I’ve gathered over the years, he and your mother had talked about it for quite some time.”

“No, they hadn’t,” I contradicted with quick heat. “There was never any mention of a divorce until your mother…until he met Claudine St. Pierre.”

“You were only a child, Christine. I’m quite certain they wouldn’t have discussed their problems in front of you. At any rate, Christopher was free, but my father, Stephan, refused to grant Mother a divorce. She sued,
and there was a very messy custody battle that resulted. Angelique wanted to remain with our father, but in spite of Mother’s affair, the court awarded her sole custody of us both. Angelique never forgave her.”

“But how can she blame
my
father for that? He brought you all back over here, to Columbé. He helped you buy back the hotel and this house. In a very real sense, he gave you back your heritage.”

“Yes,” Reid agreed, but I sensed a hesitation on his part, as though he didn’t fully concur with my assessment.

“How did your father die?”

There was a brief flash in Reid’s eyes, no more than a shadow really, but it was enough to leave me with a sort of vague sense of impending doom. I shivered, folding my arms around myself as I waited for his answer.

He said slowly, as though dredging up the words from some deep, dark, hidden place in his soul, “After court that final day, my father went home and shot himself.”

CHAPTER SIX

L
ong after Angelique and Reid had both left for work, I sat on the terrace in the sunshine, hoping the brilliance of the light would illuminate the darkness that was seeping into my heart. The house loomed behind me, so charming and fanciful in daylight, yet harboring so many secrets. So much hidden passion.

I wondered if my father had any idea how deeply the consequences of his actions years ago had affected all our lives. And yet, strangely enough, I felt I understood him better now than I ever had before. I could understand a desperate attraction between a man and a woman and how it could happen unexpectedly, without encouragement from either party. The old cliché held true—it just happens.

It had happened to me.

But the attraction I felt for Reid could easily become dangerous. I couldn’t allow my feelings to interfere with my judgment. Whatever happened, finding my father had to come first.

As the sun rose, a shadow fell over the terrace, and I got up, shivering. I walked around the house, toward the front, and as I neared the driveway, I saw Rachel and Mrs. DuPrae standing by a car, talking. The driver’s door was open, and Rachel’s arm was perched on top of the car as she faced her mother. I couldn’t see Mrs. DuPrae’s face, but from Rachel’s scowl, I gathered the two women were arguing.

I hesitated, but Rachel saw me over Mrs. DuPrae’s
shoulder. Both women turned to face me, and identical, placid masks dropped over both their expressions.

“Christine, Rachel is just on her way to work. Do you need a ride down the mountain? You mentioned something about filing a report,” Mrs. DuPrae said casually.

“That’d be great. I was wondering what I might do for transportation.”

“You can drop me off at work, then use my car,” Rachel offered, but I couldn’t tell if it was an offer made out of genuine courtesy or merely obligation. Whatever it was, I ran to get my purse before she changed her mind.

Within minutes we were heading down the mountain, and I couldn’t help comparing Rachel’s rigid control of the wheel with Reid’s breathtaking casualness. Somehow, Rachel’s caution was far from reassuring. However, I sat back and tried to enjoy the scenery.

The blaze of sunlight caught the summit to our right, igniting the tips of the trees. Clouds of birds sped across a sky so clear and blue, it looked as fragile as blown glass.

“So how long have you worked at the St. Pierre?” I asked curiously.

The brown eyes never left the road. “Ever since graduating from high school.”

“What do you do?”

She gave me a glance as though she expected me to already know that answer. “I’m Reid’s personal secretary.”

I don’t know why that revelation surprised me. Or disturbed me. Was it because, on the fringes of my mind, I’d noticed the way she’d looked at Reid last night and had wondered about it?

My imagination again, I chided myself. I was seeing
ulterior motives and hidden agendas in everyone’s expressions. And if my imagination was so powerful that I could actually feel a picture burning my fingers, God knows what else it could conjure up. Perhaps even an unrequited love.

Our gazes met, very briefly, and I smiled. “Columbé’s beautiful,” I said. “You must love it here.”

“Things are not always what they seem,” she said in a vague, colorless tone. “There are those on Columbé who consider the island little more than a prison.”

For some reason, her words brought back Vinnia’s obscure warning.
“He is alive but not well, the servant of a
malfacteur…
”

I looked at Rachel quickly, but nothing about her quiet demeanor gave anything away. She looked serene, guiltless and perhaps even a little sad.

* * *

The St. Pierre Hotel was like a magnificent pearl, all shimmering white, set against a green backdrop of lavish tropical landscaping. Crowning the top of a steep cliff, the sprawling complex looked down on the undulating turquoise waters of the Caribbean. Every room would have glorious, sweeping vistas of both sea and mountains. A veritable paradise. Never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful.

Inside was just as impressive—if a bit overwhelming—with huge glass walls looking down on the sea, towering potted palms crowding every nook and cranny, trailing vines with brilliant blossoms circling columns and outlining arches, tiny birds in gilded cages hanging from the ceiling, and fountains oozing water from dolphins’ mouths and cherubs’ pitchers.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said to Rachel as we stood just inside the glass doors to the lobby.

She looked at me in a way that was coolly detached, yet I suspected there was intensity simmering beneath that frozen facade, an intensity she worked to keep hidden.

“Do you want to see Reid before you go?”

I paused. Actually, I did, though for some reason I felt hesitant to admit it to her. I wanted to ask Reid to go with me to see Captain Baptiste, because alone, I honestly wasn’t sure the policeman would listen to me.

“All right,” I agreed. Nothing in her expression changed as she turned and led me across the lobby and down a hallway. From the open doors of the offices, the familiar sound of computers, copy machines and calculators welcomed me back to the real world.

A door in Rachel’s office opened into Reid’s, and I could see him sitting at his immense desk, the telephone receiver cradled against his shoulder as he busily scribbled notes. All of a sudden, he slammed down the phone and stood up.

“Just what the hell did you think you were doing? I thought my orders were clear.”

His deep voice, so strong and full of contempt, shocked me, although I immediately realized he wasn’t speaking to me. Someone else was in his office whom I couldn’t see from my vantage point.

Reid’s voice rose again, and I cast an uncomfortable glance at Rachel. She was seated at her desk, putting away her purse. She didn’t look up.

“Do you realize what this means?” Reid said coldly. “I pay you to follow orders, not for screwups. Is
that
clear enough for you?”

The cold, deadly anger in his voice stunned me. I couldn’t imagine what someone could have done to invoke such derision, such ill-concealed rage. I could hear
the other man stammering a defense, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Reid continued his tirade until I found myself in complete sympathy with his victim, no matter what the man might have done.

I was in a quandary. Should I leave now, before he saw me? Because after the scene I’d just heard, I wasn’t at all sure he’d be in the mood to grant me any favors. But it was too late, because the poor, unfortunate recipient of his rage was walking out the door. His head was bent slightly as if in dejection, but when he glanced in my direction, I could see the anger sparking in his eyes.

I stared at the man in surprise. “Jean Marc?”

He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. “
Oui.
I’m glad to see you are all right, mistress.”

“No thanks to you,” I said, and had the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort. “Why did you leave me at that cemetery? Why did you lie about the window being broken? How did you have it fixed so quickly?”

The questions poured out of me like a fountain that had suddenly become unclogged. Emotion after emotion swept over his face. Once again he glanced back at Reid’s office. “I don’t know what you mean. I ran out of gas. I walked back to Port Royale to get some. When I returned, you were gone.”

“And the broken window?”

His dark gaze met mine, and he shrugged. “The car was just as I left it.”

Liar!
I wanted to scream, but something stopped me, something in his face, a sorted of frightened intensity. I didn’t know what to make of him. Was he telling the truth? Perhaps he was. Perhaps I was the liar, deceiving myself into believing my own stupid dreams.

“Christine.”

Reid was glaring at me from his open doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“I…need to talk to you.”

To Jean Marc, he said, “That’ll be all. For now.”

Jean Marc gave me one last glance before he turned and hurried out of the room.

“Come in,” Reid said. He didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in his voice. Considering how we were both feeling at the moment, my timing couldn’t have been worse. Nevertheless, I marched into his office.

Reid had already seated himself behind his desk and was busily scanning an open folder. “What do you need, Christine?”

“For starters, you can tell me what you and Jean Marc were talking about.”

“If you must know, Jean Marc was being reprimanded for leaving you alone the other night. He’s been put on probation.”

“He still refuses to admit the window was broken,” I said, frowning.

“Yes. So he says.”

“And you believe him?”

“I didn’t say that. But Jean Marc has been a loyal employee. Up until this incident, I’ve had no reason not to trust him.”

“And you
do
have reason not to trust
me?
”

Reid sighed as he laid the folder aside. “He’s been reprimanded, Christine. Officially. It’ll go in his record. Without proof of what you claim, I don’t know what else I can do. If I fire him, his whole family suffers. There are very few jobs on the island. Until we get further information, I think it best we drop the incident for now. You wanted to talk to him, and now you have. Was there something else you needed?”

“I’d stupidly thought you might help me find my father.” My voice quivered with suppressed anger. “I can see now you have very little interest in either of us.”

The blue eyes lifted. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, his gaze enigmatic. “I think it is.”

His tone bewildered me. For an instant, I could have sworn we were talking about two different things. I said slowly, “Then you admit it?”

A slight hesitation. “I admit I’m at a loss as to what to do. You heard Captain Baptiste. Nothing official can be done until Christopher’s been missing for forty-eight hours.”

“Which is today. I’d like you to come with me to the police station to file a missing-person’s report.”

“You don’t need me for that.”

“No, but I think Captain Baptiste would be more inclined to act on the report if you were with me. I’d like to go now.”

“That’s impossible. I can’t get away for hours. I’ve an appointment in less than—” he glanced at the gold watch on his wrist “—five minutes,” he said pointedly. “If you want me to go with you, the report will have to wait.”

I walked over to the door and shut it with deliberate care. Then I turned on Reid. “I don’t believe this. How can you sit there so calmly, thinking about some stupid appointment, when
my father is missing.
He could be hurt or sick or…worse, for all you know or seem to care.”