Dangerous Relations (24 page)

* * * *

Lunching at the food court hours later, Ardin mused about the curative powers of
shopping. She bit into her corned beef sandwich--worthy of a top New York deli--and reviewed her
purchases in her mind. She'd worked her way through two department stores and three boutiques,
buying up a storm. Now she had enough pants and tops, skirts and blouses, shoes, bras, and
underwear to wear for the next two months. She'd also bought Leonie several items of clothing,
including a ridiculously expensive blue and white cardigan she couldn't resist.

She'd never spent that much on clothing before, but decided it had been worth
every penny because it had given her a respite from thinking about Suziette's murder and
the complications in her life. Besides, there was something about new clothes that gave one
a sense of anticipation--the possibility of new beginnings and positive outcomes regarding
the future. Maybe things would turn out right. Rabe would find her cousin's killer, and Brett
would come around to accepting her as Leonie's guardian.

Ardin hummed as she drove to Brett's house. She had so many shopping bags, she decided
to take up his offer and parked in the garage. Up in her room, she examined each article of clothing
before putting it away. Her favorite was a long, slinky black dress with a halter-top. Though she had
no occasion to wear it, the dress showed off her curves in such a flattering manner, it had been
impossible to resist. There was bound to be a New York or Hamptons party this summer, and she'd
put it to good use.

Ardin stripped down to her panties and slipped the dress over her head. She twisted up her
long hair in a clamp, and then dashed into the large well-mirrored bathroom to check out the
results.

She closed the door, twirling this way and that, to observe herself from every angle. The
dress was spectacular. With a spiky pair of black sandals, she'd be the cat's meow. Now where in
Thornedale could she find that pair of sandals? Absent-mindedly, she stepped out of her new dress
as she pondered the question. She tossed the dress over her arm and opened the door.

"Oh!" she gasped, clutching the dress to her body. "I didn't hear you come in."

Brett stared up at her from the downstairs hall, a broad grin on his face. "Now that's a
welcoming sight, so I can't say I'm sorry. Are you going somewhere?"

Blushing furiously, she ran into her room and slammed the door shut.
I never
thought--I never meant--What if he thinks-- What will he think?

She breathed deeply and willed herself to calm down. Brett knew he'd surprised her, so
there was no question of intent on her part. As for modesty--Ardin groaned. There wasn't an inch of
her body he hadn't already seen.

Minutes later, dressed again in jeans and a polo shirt, she started down the stairs. Brett,
poised halfway out the front door with whatever papers he'd come for tucked under his arm,
watched her. His expression was solemn. Or was it grim? In the distance, she couldn't be sure.

"I'd like us to sit down after dinner, Ardin. We've a few things to discuss."

She nodded, too flustered to speak. Whatever Brett had to tell her wasn't anything she
wanted to hear.

"Sure," she finally got out, but by then the door was closed and she was alone in the house.

Ardin sank into a kitchen chair and dialed her aunt's insurance company. After working
her way through five menu choices, she finally reached a live representative and started telling the
young man on the other end about the fire. He stopped her in mid-sentence, demanding Aunt Julia's
policy number and social security number. When Ardin explained that her aunt was in the hospital
and the papers had probably been burned, the man said a manager would call her within forty-eight
hours.

She slammed down the phone and redialed the number. This time she insisted on speaking
to a supervisor. After an eight-minute wait, one came on the line. Ardin repeated her story and,
after answering several questions, was told an inspector would come out to see the house two
weeks from today.

"Two weeks!" she echoed. "But the house requires considerable reconstruction. It could
take months."

"Most likely a year," the woman said. "I'm sorry, dear, but these things take time."

And where was Aunt Julia supposed to live in the meantime? Ardin shook her head in
frustration. She called the hospital, and was told Mrs. Darling's condition was unchanged from this
morning. She was sleeping comfortably.

A chill ran down Ardin's spine. "Will she be all right?"

"We certainly hope so, dear. The staff is doing everything to help her recover."

Ardin made a face. If one more person called her "dear," she wouldn't be responsible for
anything she said.

She peered into the refrigerator and saw there were enough leftovers of last night's
meatballs and pasta for dinner. An acorn squash was in the bin and she decided to bake it, too.

A quick inventory of their food supplies showed they were running low on fruits,
vegetables, and milk. She'd go food shopping tomorrow. As long as she was living here, she'd pull
her fair share. Then she remembered Brett's words as he'd left the house and shivered. Was he
going to ask her to leave?

Suddenly leaving was the last thing Ardin wanted to do. She liked living here, knowing
Leonie would come home at four-thirty, and shortly after that Brett would walk through the door.
Then the three of them would have dinner and talk and...

Oh, no, you don't! Don't you dare spin romantic daydreams that can't come true. Be real.
Think what is. Be constructive.

This would be a good time to go through Suziette's belongings from the office. Once she'd
fetched the carton from her car and plunked it down in the middle of the living room, she sat
cross-legged on the Turkish rug and unfolded the four flaps.

Inside she found a neatly folded trench coat, a black cardigan and a white one, a pair of
sneakers, a pair of high heels, and a cosmetic bag loaded with makeup.

Farther down were a large coffee mug, little statuettes with cutesy sayings, a mirror with
an elaborate silver handle, some fashion magazines, two dog-eared paperbacks, and several
photographs: of Suziette, of Leonie and Suziette, and an eight-by-ten of Suziette, Leonie, and Brett
taken at the wedding. Their smiling faces made her want to cry.

She sifted carefully among the many items, on the lookout for the black date book, but it
wasn't there. The police hadn't found it when they searched the house and Suziette's car. Of course
the murderer might have found it when he ransacked both houses.

Then why was he after her?
Vigorously, Ardin shook her head to chase the
insidious thought away. No one was after her. Nothing bad had happened to her since the
night of the fire. And, despite his denials, Marshall Crewe had to be the arsonist. His
presence at the scene was proof of that.

Not proof but circumstantial evidence, counselor,
the voice of her conscience
pointed out, but Ardin brushed it aside. This was real life, not a court of law. Everyone
knew how facts could be twisted around.

The doorbell rang, startling her. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find
Frank standing there. He was panting. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow, marring his dapper
appearance.

"Get Brett. I have to speak to him."

She gaped. "Brett's not here. He's at the strip mall."

He pushed past her, giving off a rank whiff of body odor. "I know he's here. His workmen
said he had to pick up some papers."

Frank's hyper, jerky movements made her uneasy. "He came home but he left again. I'll tell
him you came looking for him."

He peered into the kitchen, the empty dining room, and then came back to face her. "The
fool's making a huge mistake. This condo deal's the chance of a lifetime. It will set him and Rob up
with enough jobs for the rest of their lives."

So that was it. Brett had pulled out, sending Frank into a panic.

She squirmed as his eyes narrowed, his lips turned up in a grimace of a smile. "I bet
it's your doing.
You
told Brett all sorts of lies to change his mind."

"I most certainly did not."

He stepped closer. "I don't believe you."

She backed up, but quickly regretted her move. One more step back and she'd be smack
against the staircase.

"How dare you come back here and meddle in my business? Destroy plans I've spent years
in the making? No one crosses Frank MacAllister. No one!"

She flinched as his spittle hit her cheek. Her one hope was to take the offensive. "I'd like
you to leave now."

"Oh, you would, would you?" He parked his hands on his hips, looking frighteningly like
Corey. Would he strike her? "Brett has the chance to make good money, for us all to make money,
but you had to contaminate it with biased tales of your father."

"I never told Brett..." she began, and then realized she had.

"Don't tell me you don't lie and scheme." His sneer came menacingly closer. "You're no
better than your whore of a cousin."

Frantically, Ardin looked around. "Get out, Frank, before I call the police."

She had no idea what he intended to do next, when a car horn honked, startling them
both.

Frank drew back. "If you know what's good for you, you'll sweet-talk Brett into staying in
the deal."

The horn honked more insistently now. "It's Leonie," she said, moving past him to the
door.

She gulped in sweet, spring air as she ran toward the school bus, which had pulled into the
driveway behind Frank's Jaguar. Leonie came toward her holding Mr. Bonkers in one hand, a
drawing in another.

"Look, Cousin Ardin. I made a picture of all the animals in the zoo."

Ardin waved to the bus driver and stopped to study the drawing.

"See, there's a tiger, and there's a seal splashing around in her pool. Miss Anne read us a
zoo story today."

"And there's a lion." Ardin hoped Frank would calm down and leave. Surely, he wouldn't
carry on and upset Leonie.

Leonie tugged at her hand. "Let's go inside. I'm hungry."

Reluctantly Ardin followed her up the steps. She sighed with relief when Frank stepped
outside.

Leonie ran to give him a hug. "Uncle Frank! I didn't know you were here."

"I'm just leaving." He gave her a perfunctory pat on the head.

Leonie said to Ardin. "Me and Michelle saw Uncle Frank in the mall on Saturday. He was
shopping, just like us."

Frank climbed into his car without another word.

Ardin held her breath as he backed the Jaguar out of the driveway and roared down the
street.

* * * *

Brett drove home slowly, practicing out loud what he'd say to Ardin. Finding the kindest
way to ask her to move out was damned difficult. Especially when she was virtually homeless, and
he'd invited her to be his houseguest.

"I think it's best we live apart, given the circumstances."

He shook his head. That sounded so phony. Besides, "live apart" gave off all kinds of shock
waves. It was too intimate, too strong. Too much like a marital separation. He punched the steering
wheel. What were the right words? He turned his attention back to the road in time to honk at an
SUV barreling towards him, smack in the middle of the street.

There were no right words to tell Ardin she'd better leave or she'd find herself charging
him with indecent advances or sexual harassment, or whatever the legal term was for making a
pass at someone in your own home.

He'd almost lost it when she came out of the bathroom half-naked. It took all his willpower
to resist putting his arms around her and pressing her close. He longed to stroke her breasts and
waist and hips. Hell, all of him yearned to make love to her till the sun came up in the morning.

Not that she cared a fig about him. She'd proved that by scheming to take Leonie, the only
other person he cared about. He glanced up at the court's letter jammed against the visor.

"We're adversaries in a court case," he said, "and we ought to keep our distance."

The problems were coming fast and furious, he thought, as he turned down his street. Bill
Presley had called to say Frank had no legal authority to the land where he was planning to build
those condos. Brett called Frank immediately, claiming he couldn't put down any money without
seeing the deed to the property. Frank hemmed and hawed, and then, when he saw Brett wasn't
going along with the deal, turned downright ugly and demanded to know who had turned Brett
against him.

Brett didn't want Frank MacAllister for an enemy, but he wasn't about to make any more
stupid mistakes, either.

He tingled with anxiety and--yes--anticipation as he entered the house. "Ardin? Leonie?" he
called out. "Where are you?"

"In here, Daddy. Watching TV."

He went into the darkened family room. Leonie, a thumb in her mouth, her other hand
holding Mr. Bonkers, was leaning against Ardin. Ardin sat ramrod straight on the sofa. Although he
couldn't read her expression in the dim light, he knew something was wrong.

"Hello, Ardin."

She barely nodded.

"What's up?"

She shrugged, like a child wanting to be coaxed.

"Want to talk about it?"

She shrugged again.

"Come in the kitchen."

She perched on the edge of the chair where she usually sat. Her nostrils and eyes were red,
and he realized she'd been crying.

"Tell me," he said.

She sniffed. "Frank stopped by to give me a piece of his mind for making you pull out of the
condo deal. He threatened me with--" She threw out her hands. "I-don't-know-what, if I didn't get
you to change your mind."

Brett stared at her. "But it has nothing to do with you. Bill told me Frank hasn't the right to
the property. I called Frank and he tried to bluff his way out of it. He blew his stack when he
realized I was pulling out."