Chapter 11
Tommy paced the library's length, feeling like the tiger caged in the paperweight on his desk--a gift from his mother, the first of his collection. Weighed down by all his mistakes, he was as important to free himself from his tangled web as the trapped tiger was to jump clear of the glass.
Though he had no proof one way or the other. Alana was more than likely dead. Jamie had sicced Kwest on his tail. The trust looked farther out of reach than it ever had. Had all the lies been worth it? Or were they getting him further away from his objective? Now he'd been forced to add another lie to the web.
Kwest was a hound, when it came to a case. He could smell the blood and betrayal a mile away. The policeman turned private investigator was anything but harmless. He was known to latch on to things like a junkyard dog and not let go until he'd chewed the situation to bits. He'd refused to drop the case after Tommy had fired him. And he would see through this latest lie as if it were a freshly cleaned window.
Ten days left until Alana's birthday. Would it be long enough?
"Is everything all right, Tommy?"
Tommy looked up from his dark thoughts to find Speiderman standing at the door. "Yes."
Speiderman sat in the chair before Tommy's desk. "Jude hasn't been found out, has she?"
"No. But there's trouble." Speiderman understood the importance of the trust to Tommy's research, understood how close they were to finding, if not a cure, then at least a way to manage the ravaging disease that had killed his father and that lay dormant, for now, in his genes. Understood and shared his passion for truth.
"Does your uncle still work for customs?"
Speid nodded.
"See if you can find out when Jamie entered the country. And get ahold of Cameron.
Ten minutes later, Speid handed Tommy the phone.
"Cam?"
"It's been a while, big brother. What's up?"
"I need your help."
There was silence on the other end. It had been much too long--years--since he'd talked with Cameron or his sister, Juliana. Their last meeting hadn't been pleasant. You've taken away the last of my hope, Juliana had said, face pale and eyes brimming with tears. Cameron had laughed, but the sound had been harsh and spiteful. Got caught on the losing end of a con after all, he'd said, then stalked out, not bothering to finish his drink. Perhaps Tommy shouldn't have told them of his fundings' of their possible doomed futures. He couldn't blame Cameron for his reluctance to help him now.
"You need my help?" Cameron said, harsh incredulity ringing in his voice. "Since when?"
"Since I find myself in need of a con man."
--
A low grumbling sound distracted Jude from her brooding thoughts. From one of the dining-room windows, she saw a plow entering the courtyard to clear the few inches of snow that had fallen overnight. Stretching her arms above her, she worked the kinks out of her stiff shoulders. Fat, white clouds glided over the sun at regular intervals, patching the ground below in a hopscotch of light and shadows. Another day, another cold storm. She had to find something to do before she went crazy.
Seeking more coffee, Jude headed for the kitchen. She found Valentin, face reddened from exertion,thin hair askew, bustling about the room like a mad bird who'd flown into the house by mistake.
"Can I help with anything?" she asked, fearing the old man would die of a heart attack before her eyes.
"Non, madame." He dropped a copper saucepan on the floor and clucked disapprovingly at the dent on the side when he picked it up.
Spotting a fresh pot of coffee in the coffeemaker on the wooden counter-top, Jude headed for it and filled her cup. "I was wondering, how long have you know Tommy?"
"Since he was a boy, madame. You could say I came with the house." He poked at the dent, trying to pop it back out.
"What do you think of him?"
"He is a fair and generous employer."
"But how do you feel about him?"
He stopped poking and looked at her as if she were as appealing as a piece of rotting fish. "I am not in the position to express an opinion, madame."
"Come on, Valentin. Employee to employee, how do you feel about him?"
"Curiosity, madame, is something better left unexplored."
She should have known better than to attempt a conversation with Valentin. Her previous experience should have prepared her for his creepy turn of phrase. Maybe another tack would yield better results.
"Since you came with the house, so to speak, I was wondering, do you ever hear, um...voices coming from the walls?"
"Voices, madame?" He hung the pot on an overhead rack.
"Well, yes, sometimes I seem to hear something that sounds like a whisper, even if there's no one around."
He shrugged, and picked up a rag by the sink. "It is and old house. Anything is possible."
"You weren't serious about the ghosts, were you?" Her hands wrapped around the filled coffee cup, seeking its warmth.
The swipe of the rag in his hand slowed on the counter, but didn't stop. "As I said, it is an old house with a long history of death under its roof. Desperation led the monks to sacrifice, which led to legend. Anything is possible." Valentin's rag redoubled its effort. Jude decided to drop that line of questioning. The last thing she needed was gory details to feed her nightmares.
"Did Alana ever help out around the house?"
"Madame knew her place," he said, implying Jude did not. He folded the rag neatly and placed it on a holder inside the sink-cabinet door, then gave her a look of pity as if she were a lost child. "She did, however, take care of the fete preparations."
"Of course, she would."
"There are still a few things left to be done. If you like--"
"Yes, I like."
She pushed herself off the counter, relieved to have something to occupy her besides the dark twists of her active imagination, and followed Valentin down the hall to Alana's office. After opening the locked door and snapping on the light, he gave her the key, as he had in the bedroom.
Jude moved about the lamp-lit room, her feet sinking into the crimson carpet's deep plush. The elaborate gold-trimmed Louis XIV desk in the middle of the room dominated the space, and made a sharp contrast with the plain-framed distorted pieces of modern art hanging on the gold-splattered walls. On the desk stood a computer, a printer and an antique telephone. What kind of woman was Alana? How could she possibly find this garishly opulent decor beautiful?
"Why are all the doors locked?" Jude asked as she fingered the brass key in her hand.
"Energy conservation, madame."
"Yes, of course."
"Madame worked at the desk."
As opposed to the floor, Jude thought, smiling to herself. Valentin's opinion of her definately wasn't very high. What had he thought of the real Alana? Judging by his comments, if he hadn't liked her, he certainly had held her in higher esteem.
Valentin snapped the frothy cream curtains open, letting in light from the window. Jude sneezed at the shower of dust.
"I'm sure you will find all you need," he said.
"Thank you, Valentin."
His unmoving thin line of a mouth was not reassuring as he bowed slightly. "If you need anything, there is an intercom to the kitchen by the door." He duck-walked out, closing the door behind him.
Jude sat in Alana's chair and looked at her surroundings. The walls didn't dance before her. But she felt them. Watching her. Waiting.
"For what?" she asked them, but no replied whisper came back. She wished she knew what this "expectation" she felt was all about. If she did, she could get rid of the feeling of naked vulnerability which was her constant companion in this cold house.
Her call to check on Gram before she came down this morning hadn't brought any peace of mind. Gram's immune system wasn't rallying the way it should from her last bout with the flu. Overnight, they'd had to put her on a respirator. And thinking Gram so frail and helpless frightened her. How long before she was all alone?
Jude shook her head. She didn't want to think about depressing things. She looked through Alana's desk and found a to-do list with the items done crossed off. Alana's handwriting was bold and thick, like a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. Had Tommy admired her barefaced confidence? Was that why he'd married her? What had gone wrong?
She beeped Valentin on the intercom.
"Oui, madame." His irritation at the disturbance filtered through the crackling speaker.
"Have the invitations gone out? I don't see a mention of them on Alana's list."
"Non, madame."
"Where are they?"
"Behind you in the white boxes, madame." Jude spotted them beneath a brass-footed mahogany worktable.
"Do you have a guest list?"
"In the folder in the second drawer of the desk, madame. The right side."
She found the file exactly where he'd said it would be. A smile crept over her lips. Valentin needed some loosening up, and she decided to tease him. "Can I add a few names of my own?"
Silence, long and static, followed her question. "As you wish, madame."
Jude leaned back in Alana's ornate chair and sighed wearily. Even teasing the old butler wasn't giving her any satisfaction. The house's gloom was starting to get to her.
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A/N- I'm so excited I'm getting more readers. Thanks to everyone, I love seeing my reviews, it keeps me going, and makes me want to keep going on with the story. All your reviews are great, thanks for reading!