“By going to dinner with me,” he said. “I enjoyed your company. I think we go well together. I like the idea of being with you. Why? What did you think I meant?”
I couldn’t ask for a nicer answer, but something deep inside me wasn’t buying it. After all, we didn’t know each other that well. A few flirtatious conversations and one dinner generally didn’t provoke such a serious reaction in men like Daniel—at least not with women like me.
“I don’t know,” I said. He leaned toward me. “Wait.” I put my hand on his chest again. “Daniel,” I said slowly, unsure how to phrase my question, “I don’t know how to ask you this, but are you and Lauren … ?”
He immediately stopped trying to kiss me. “Are Lauren and I what?” he asked, with an edge to his voice.
Blushing, I averted my face from him. “More than friends,” I said, my voice small. I hated having to ask, but I had to know.
Daniel leaned back, his eyes dark with annoyance. “Why would I be here with you if that were the case?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that there’s been a lot of speculation about you and Lauren, especially since Gerald was murdered. Everything is moving so fast. We don’t know each other very well, and I … well, I …”
“I realize that we don’t know each other very well,” he said, “but I thought that was the point of dinner—to get to know each other better.”
My face burned with embarrassment. “I know, but …” I began lamely.
“Is that why you went out to dinner with me tonight? To see what you could find out about me? About Lauren?”
“No! But just now, I wondered.”
“You suddenly wondered if Lauren and I are more than friends.” He frowned. “And if we are, what would be the point of my seeing you? To throw off suspicion about my relationship with Lauren?”
“Something like that.” Hearing it voiced out loud rendered the whole thing silly and melodramatic, but nevertheless I noticed that he hadn’t answered my question.
Daniel reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cigarette. As he lit it, I noticed that his fingers shook slightly. He inhaled deeply before continuing. I watched the smoke curling out into long, wispy tendrils. “I like you, Elizabeth,” he finally said slowly, choosing his words with care, “but this isn’t a good way to start a relationship—with suspicions and insecurities.”
“I’m sorry, Daniel.” I lowered my voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Everything has been so crazy the past couple of days. I can’t tell which end is up anymore. The police think that Aunt Winnie might have had something to do with Gerald’s murder, and I can’t let them think that.”
“So what are you doing? Playing girl detective to get her off the hook?”
His words stung. “I’m trying to find out what I can. And if it helps Aunt Winnie, then all the better. There’s a lot going on here that doesn’t make sense. I’m just trying to make sense of it.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” he asked sharply.
I opened my mouth to answer but realized there was nothing I could tell him. Daniel watched me closely, and I suddenly was aware of what a stupid position I had put myself in. I was alone in a car, in the dark, with a man I really didn’t know, who had an excellent reason for killing Gerald Ramsey. I inched backward toward the door. Daniel saw the movement and frowned. “What doesn’t make sense?” he repeated.
“I’d really rather not say,” I said. “I think we probably should go inside.”
“I agree. But before we do, I think I should tell you—if you’re trying to play sleuth here—stay away from Lauren and Polly. They had nothing to do with Gerald’s murder. And I will not let them be dragged through the mud just so you can divert attention from your aunt.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!”
“The hell it isn’t,” he said, yanking his key out of the ignition. He glared at me, his pupils cold black dots. The inside of the car seemed to shrink. What had minutes ago been a cozy atmosphere was now decidedly claustrophobic. He leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “Leave Lauren and Polly alone.”
I was too startled to answer. His blue eyes watched me with a guarded expression. Rolling down the window, he threw out his cigarette butt. A blast of cold air rushed in, but its chill was nothing compared to the arctic atmosphere between us. He took a deep breath and forced a smile back onto his face. “What are we doing here, anyway?” he said. “Arguing about nothing. All I’m saying is that Lauren and Polly are my friends, and I don’t want to see them hurt. Just as you don’t want to see your aunt hurt. And to be honest, I’m worried about you.”
“About me? But why?”
He shrugged slightly. “Call it a gut feeling. A man was murdered here, after all. If word gets out that you’re poking around, you could be in danger. You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.” He tipped my chin up with his fingers as he said this. “Just be careful, okay?”
I could only nod my head in agreement.
Once inside, he bade me a chaste good night in the foyer. As he disappeared up the stairs, I wondered about his bringing up curiosity killing the cat. Was it a well-intended warning or a veiled threat? The thought of cats made me think of Lady Catherine and the dining room. Every night since I’d arrived, it had been the scene of one kind of nocturnal event or another. I wandered over to see if tonight would be any different. Cautiously peeking into the dark room, I was relieved to find it empty. Just as I turned around to go upstairs, a puff of cold air brushed my face. I peered toward the back of the room. Was the door to the garden open?
Quietly, I crept across the room to the door. It was indeed open a crack. I peered out into the backyard. It was dark and still. Thinking that the door had been left open by mistake, I reached out my hand to pull it shut. As I did, the small red ember of a cigarette cut the darkness outside.
My breath caught in my throat. Who was out there? I was debating calling out when the clouds shifted, releasing a bright beam of moonlight onto the form of Henry Anderson.
He was sitting on the bench, seemingly lost in thought and staring intently at his feet. He stood up and flicked the cigarette out into the snow, the ember arcing a fiery red against the black sky. Joan had told me that Henry hated smoking and that’s why she’d been forced to sneak her cigarettes. Yet here was Henry smoking away. Clearly, someone was lying, but who? Henry stood for several minutes with his back to me. What was he doing? Could he be hiding something? Finally, he turned around and rapidly made his way toward the house.
I had just hidden myself in Aunt Winnie’s office when he quietly slunk into the foyer. Pressed against the backside of the door, I watched through the crack as he slowly climbed upstairs.
I heard his door upstairs softly open and shut, but I forced myself to count to one hundred before leaving the office. I ran through the dining room and out the back door. The snow crunched under my feet as I crossed the yard. When I reached the bench where he’d sat, I looked around, for what I don’t know. Then I saw the bird feeder. Could he have hidden something in it? I stuck my hand through the opening and felt around. My fingers touched something hard and round, and my heart began to pound with excitement. Grasping the item, I yanked it free from the bird feeder. I held my breath as I opened my hand. I was holding a cluster of acorns. With a snort of disgust, I threw the nuts to the ground. What the hell was the matter with me? I was turning into Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey, seeing intrigue and deception at every turn. Who the hell would hide something in a bird feeder, anyway? Embarrassed, I walked back to the inn with my head low.
I was just nearing the door when a glint of silver, half buried in the snow, caught my eye. I picked it up.
It was a simple silver pendant. I flipped it over. On the back were three initials. V.A.B.
Who the hell was V.A.B.?
CHAPTER 15