White Lies (14 page)

“Unfortunately she can’t separate your existence from what happened in the past.”

“What woman could?” Clare asked simply.

“It’s not right. If she wants to hold on to her resentment against Dad for what happened over three decades ago, that’s her business. But she shouldn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault Dad and your mother had an affair.”

“It didn’t even qualify as an affair,” Clare said. “It was, as I understand it, a one-night stand after which both parties involved realized that it was a terrible mistake.”

“I feel sorry for you, Clare. You know I do. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you all those years, never knowing your father and your sister and brother. But, frankly, I’m damned grateful that you exist. Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare about Brad I start to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been out there and if you hadn’t contacted me when you did.”

Clare reached across the space that separated them and touched her arm. “But I was there and we did meet.”

“Thank heavens,” Elizabeth whispered. “If I could just get Mom to listen. But she keeps saying that it’s best if we all forget about what happened and move on with our lives. I’ve never seen her so adamant. It’s like she’s in total denial.”

“Let it go, Liz. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

“I suppose your saving my life gets filed under the no-good-deed-goes-unpunished rule.”

Clare smiled. “I didn’t save your life. You made the decision to trust me. In doing so, you saved your own life and very likely Archer’s and Matt’s as well, if our theory about Brad’s motives is right.”

“Our theory is correct,” Elizabeth said. “I know it is, although we’ll never be able to prove it now.”

“Like I said, time to let it go.”

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” she asked.

Clare thought about the conversation at breakfast.

“I invited Jake out to dinner,” she said. “He accepted.”

“You invited him? This is getting exciting.”

“Well, actually, he asked me out again but I declined.”

“For heaven’s sake, why?”

“Something tells me that with a man like him, it’s probably a good idea to keep the score even. I don’t want him to feel that he’s running things in this relationship. Assuming you can call one date a relationship.”

“No offense to your feminine instincts, Clare, but I honestly don’t think letting him feed you dinner twice in a row would make him conclude that he’s got the upper hand.”

“I think it’s sort of a game we’re playing,” Clare said. “Hard to explain.”

“Sounds interesting. Where are you going to take him?”

“I haven’t decided but after splurging on that dress and pair of shoes yesterday, I can guarantee you that it won’t be one of the high-end resort restaurants. Got any suggestions?”

“Well, there’s a little Mexican place that Dad raves about. They make their own tortillas, and according to Dad, who knows these things, they serve the best green corn tamales in the Valley. He and Owen go there a lot after a round of golf. It’s right here in Stone Canyon.”

“Sounds like just what I’m looking for.”

“I’ll give you the address. They don’t take reservations so you may have a wait in the evenings.”

Hushed footsteps sounded on the tile floor behind the recliners. Two spa attendants garbed in the establishment’s pale green and brown uniforms and soft-soled athletic shoes appeared.

“Ms. Glazebrook, it’s time for your facial,” one of them said.

Elizabeth rose from the recliner. “See you in an hour, Clare. Enjoy the Tropical Experience Chamber.”

The second attendant smiled at Clare. “If you’ll follow me, Ms. Lancaster?”

Clare accompanied the woman down a tranquilly lit hall. “What’s this Tropical Experience thing, exactly?” she asked. “The brochure said something about waterfalls.”

“It’s one of our most popular therapies,” the attendant assured her. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

She opened a door and ushered Clare into a small slice of a lush, tropical paradise. Palms, ferns and exotic blooming plants framed a large spa tub disguised as a rocky grotto. A waterfall shower cascaded into the tub creating a low, rushing, churning sound. The ceiling was decorated with a mock canopy of dark green leaves. The low, ambient lighting gave the room the aura of a jungle at dawn.

“I like it already,” Clare announced. She untied the sash of her robe. “This is going to be fun.”

“Take your time and relax,” the attendant said. “This is a forty-minute experience. I’ll come and get you when it’s finished.”

She let herself out into the hall and closed the door.

Clare hung the robe on a convenient hook and went up the spa steps. She stepped gingerly into the fake grotto pool. The jetted water was warm and fragrant.

She lowered herself onto an underwater seat, stretched her arms out on either side and prepared to savor the Good Life.

It occurred to her that the imitation grotto was large enough to hold two people. She allowed herself to slip into a pleasant fantasy that involved sharing the delightful tropical setting with someone interesting, Jake Salter for instance.

Probably not a good idea to be fantasizing about Jake, she thought. But fantasies were notoriously hard to control. That’s why they called them fantasies, she reminded herself. No problem. As long as she kept Jake in the fantasy realm she was safe. Right?

Something told her that nothing connected to Jake Salter was safe; not for her, at any rate. Last night she had played with fire. Tonight she was planning to do it again. After a lifetime of caution around men the uncharacteristic streak of recklessness made her smile.

The water splashed and bubbled around her. She rested her head against a towel-covered pillow attached to the back of the spa tub and watched the waterfall. The cascading water was soothing, almost hypnotic.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard the door open behind her.

“Is my forty minutes up already?” she asked.

There was no reply. Clare heard the sole of a hard leather shoe slap against the tile floor.

A leather shoe.

That was wrong. Everyone around here wore slippers or athletic shoes.

The same panicky awareness that had hit her the day before in the parking garage flashed through her again. It was as if someone had traced the length of her spine with a sliver of ice from an ancient glacier. Intense cold chilled her to the bone.

Acting on her fight-or-flight impulse, she shoved herself away from the side of the tub into the middle of the grotto pool. She whipped around in the water, turning to face the door.

She had a split second to register the bizarre sight of a figure garbed in a spa robe and towel turban standing at the far end of the tub. The intruder’s features were obscured by a green-tinged mud-like facial mask.

The robed figure had a heavy-looking object clutched in both hands and was propelling it downward with ferocious energy.

A dumbbell,Clare realized an instant before it crashed against the pillow precisely where her head had been resting a second before.

Shocked, she instinctively threw herself farther back out of range.

The movement took her under the waterfall. A heavy rush of water pounded down on her, obscuring her vision.

She reeled away from under the cascading water, groping blindly for the steps and something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Her hand closed over a towel.Useless.

She opened her mouth to scream.

The intruder whirled and ran from the room, pausing just long enough to slam the door shut.

Clare scrambled up the spa tub steps, grabbed the robe off the hook and raced toward the door.

The hall outside the spa room was empty.

The assistant manager’s name was Karen Trent. She was a very buff, very toned, very attractive blonde in her early thirties. She was also very concerned and very unhappy.

“Are you absolutely certain about what happened, Miss Lancaster?” she asked for the third time.

Clare, dressed once more in the black pants and brown T-shirt she had worn to the spa, faced her from the other side of the desk. Elizabeth, also dressed in her street clothes, and tight-lipped with anger, sat beside her.

“You saw that eight-pound dumbbell in the pool for yourself,” Clare said. “How do you think it got there?”

“I’m not saying that someone didn’t accidentally drop it into the spa tub,” Karen said soothingly. “But I’m sure that it wasn’t intentional.”

Clare’s senses stirred. Karen was lying but that was hardly a surprise under the circumstances. The assistant manager obviously suspected that something unpleasant had happened in the Tropical Experience Chamber, but she was going to remain in denial if at all possible. A lot of folks in her position would have done the same. No one wanted this kind of trouble, especially in an upscale spa. Bad for business.

“You weren’t there,” Clare said. “I was. I know what I saw.”

“I’m not disputing the events, only your interpretation of them,” Karen said quickly. “I think it is much more plausible that one of the clients opened the door of the Tropical Experience room by mistake, got disconcerted when she realized that the grotto was already occupied and dropped the dumbbell.”

The energy of the lie was tinged with desperation. Clare wondered if Karen was worried that her job might be at stake.

“The intruder tried to crush my skull with that dumbbell,” Clare said evenly. “Trust me, it was no accident.”

Elizabeth glowered at Karen. “Why do you think someone in the middle of a mudpack facial would go down the hall to the gym and borrow an eight-pound dumbbell in the first place?”

“Our clients are allowed free use of all the facilities, including the fitness center,” Karen said. “You know that, Ms. Glazebrook. Sometimes people get bored waiting for a mudpack therapy to conclude. They wander into the Contemplation Room or the Tranquillity Room or the fitness center.”

“You’re not going to call the police, are you?” Clare said.

“I really don’t see any reason to do so.” Karen widened her hands. “Of course, you and Ms. Glazebrook are free to do as you wish. If you do choose to file a report, however, please be aware that you have no evidence to back up your version of events except the dumbbell. As I just said, its presence in the pool can be explained in other ways.”

This was a waste of time, Clare decided. Now that she’d had some time to calm down she was starting to think more clearly again. It dawned on her that most of Stone Canyon still wondered if she had killed Brad McAllister six months ago. Karen Trent was probably lying because she was afraid she had a murderer sitting in her office.

There was another factor working against them, too, Clare thought. She exchanged a glance with Elizabeth and saw grim comprehension in her sister’s eyes. They both knew that the rumors of Elizabeth’s nervous breakdown had never gone away entirely.

Neither of them would be viewed as a star witness. The Glazebrook name would ensure that they were treated politely by the cops, but that was as far as the investigation would go.

Clare got to her feet. “Let’s go,” she said to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth rose, stiff with anger, and followed her.

In the spa lobby they put on their sunglasses and walked out into the intense early afternoon sun. Heat radiated in waves from the parking lot pavement, creating a visible shimmering effect. Brilliant light sparked off the fenders of the parked vehicles.

The interior of the Mercedes was an oven in spite of the silver sun screen that Elizabeth had placed behind the windshield to deflect the heat.

Elizabeth folded the reflective screen and dropped it behind the front seat. She slipped behind the wheel, switched on the engine and cranked up the air-conditioning. Clare got in beside her. The buckle of the seat belt was too hot to touch.

“You know who it was, don’t you?” Elizabeth asked.

“I think so, yes,” Clare said quietly. “So do you.”

“That’s why you didn’t push Karen Trent into calling the police.”

“That and also because she had a point. I have zilch in the way of proof.” Clare gingerly fastened her seat belt. “Let’s face it, we both know that I don’t need any more trouble with the local authorities.”

“What are we going to do?” Elizabeth turned urgently in the seat. “She just tried tomurder you. We can’t ignore that.”

“It would probably be smart if I left town as soon as possible,” Clare said. “It was my presence here that set her off.”

“Valerie Shipley is just like her son.” Elizabeth’s voice was dull with dread. “She’s crazy.”

“I agree. But we couldn’t prove that Brad was a wack job and I don’t think we’ll be able to prove that his mother is, either.”

A light gold Jaguar was parked in the drive of the Shipley home. Clare halted the rented compact behind it and turned off the engine.

She looked at the double front doors at the entrance to the large, sprawling house. Raw determination warred with a morose sense of futility. What she planned to do probably wasn’t going to work but it was the only option left. She could not think of any other way to get Valerie off her back.

She got out of the car and slung her purse over her shoulder. She gripped the strap so tightly she had a hunch she was leaving nail marks in the leather.

She hadn’t told Elizabeth of her scheme because she knew that, at the very least, her sister would have insisted on accompanying her. But if the strategy failed Valerie might decide to turn her rage on Elizabeth. That would only make the situation worse. After all, Elizabeth had to live in this town.

She stopped on the tiled entranceway, stomach clenched as though anticipating a blow, and rang the doorbell.

No footsteps sounded in the entry hall on the other side of the door.

She leaned on the bell a second time.

Still no answer.

She stepped back, not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed. Unfortunately, postponing the confrontation with Valerie Shipley was not going to improve matters. It only delayed the inevitable.